


No Regrets for Love

by FlybyStardancer, gatekat



Series: No Regrets for Love [1]
Category: Transformers (Bay Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dathanna de Gray verse, M/M, Parent/Child Incest, Public Sex, Sex Toys, Sticky Sex, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-15
Updated: 2012-12-19
Packaged: 2017-11-21 13:57:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 26,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/598521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlybyStardancer/pseuds/FlybyStardancer, https://archiveofourown.org/users/gatekat/pseuds/gatekat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bayverse Scramble/Whiplash<br/>Scramble is an Aerial in Autobot Security and finds himself with a serious crush on the SpecOp's TIC. He has no idea a night at a random club with a good beat would end with the exotic matte black minibot in his berth. Porntastic even by our standards.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Most Unorthodox Invitation

He hadn't planned on stalking the little matte-black mech, he didn't even know Whiplash was off duty or in Iacon at all. But that lithe form, dancing intimately with his gleaming silver CO in a parody of black and white, light and dark, was the first thing that caught his optic when he strode into the dance club. There were a smattering of Autobots around, but most of the clientele were still civilians.

Keeping an optic sensor on the entrancing mech, he made his way over to the bar to order a cube of high grade. It gave him something to do as he waited for an opening. Jazz was intimidating enough for him to wait and watch. In the meantime, watching the pair dance together was arousing in all the best and worst ways. Bonded or not, commanding officer or not, Jazz clearly had no issues with touching his subordinates in ways that would have him court-martialed in most fields.

A twist and Whiplash's back was to Scramble, forcing optic to visor contact for a brief moment before Jazz grinned at him and nibbled Whiplash's neck while his hands found the black mech's aft in an utterly suggestive way.

And oh was it erotic. Scramble could easily imagine that it was his own mouth and hands on him. The way he responded was completely mesmerizing. It was almost enough to forget just who Whiplash's dance partner was -- almost. He took another sip of his drink to steady himself, not noticing how quickly it was disappearing until he was quietly asked if he wanted another.

Jazz grinned a little wider and turned a completely compliant, moaning and supple Whiplash around so they were both facing the sleek, combat Aerial. A mirrored black visor and a matte-finish rich green one followed the lines of Scramble's upswept wings, then down his tall, powerful fighter's frame.

All the while Jazz moved seductively behind his agent, playing his hands along the lightly armored form until one came to rest over Whiplash's spark chamber and the other curled around his interface cover between his legs.

His wings twitched and armor puffed out enticingly at their hungry gazes. His own optics greedily took in their motions, the lines drawn by Jazz's hands, his fans kicking in as the silver mech touched his operative so intimately.

A second drink was accepted without conscious thought, all of his primary thoughts focused in on the pair before him. Even if he never got to touch Whiplash, this would fuel his private moments for vorns to come.

A low, resonant moan echoed from Whiplash as he tipped his helm back, offering his throat to Jazz and the visual of the sleek lines to the watchers. Without a word Whiplash lifted his arms and hooked them together behind Jazz's helm, submitting completely to his dance partner. A sharp silver claw teased the edge of his upper interface panel and he snapped both opened without hesitation, offering spike and valve to his commander.

Scramble barely suppressed a groan of his own as Whiplash submitted. His hips twitched at the sight of the open panel, spike pressing at its housing and valve beginning to produce lubricant. The new drink was all but forgotten in his hand. He was torn whether to watch the matte black mech's interface array or his rapture-filled features. Both were incredibly enticing sights.

In one moment when his optics were on the lower enticement, he realized Jazz was waiting for him to look to slide his spike into the oh-so-willing valve. Never loosing beat to the music, he dragged his spike out only to thrust in hard. Each jarring meeting of hips ripped another _sound_ from Whiplash's vocalizer and hard rev of the matching engines.

And oh that sound was _glorious_. He couldn't get enough of it. His optics darted up to catch the expression on Whiplash's face, but quickly refocused on the movement of spike in valve.

Scramble's own hips and wings began to twitch in time with the tempo Jazz set, his spike pressing even more insistently at its housing, his fans kicking up even higher.

Silver claws closed around Whiplash's matte-finish spike and Scramble finally realized that it wasn't the standard design. A spiral of rich, dark green curled around it in a raised pattern, woven over and under a second spiral of burnished silver.

His fans stalled briefly as he noticed the pattern, before coming back even harder. Was there anything that was not erotic in the extreme about him?

"Please," the word from the matte black mech was barely audible, but it made Scramble shiver with need as he watched Whiplash begin to loose the tempo with an approaching overload.

This time Scramble couldn't hold back the low, rumbling groan. His free hand came down to stroke his interface panel, optics locked on Whiplash's spike and valve. What would it feel like to sink into that slick heat, to feel the arousal in their interwoven EM fields, to _feel_ those sounds escaping Whiplash and be their cause? His wings shivered as the charge rose in him with nowhere to go.

Jazz hands moved to Whiplash's hips, arching the mech's body so his spike could seat fully in the valve. Shameless cries of desire, need, begging to be taken harder rose over the music as Whiplash's overload built and he began to writhe out of control.

Only one cry went unanswered by his commander and lover; a pleading for attention to his spike.

The sound was too much for him. Before he could even process what he was doing, Scramble had closed the distance between them and dropped down to swallow that beautiful spike, glossa tracing the entwined spirals running its length. Another groan was pulled from him, vibrating his throat around the spike.

He felt Whiplash's EM field lash out to grab hold of his, weaving him into the pleasure and sharing of the two minibots. It was an aggressive move to say the least, but it suited the pair and he was too far gone to protest.

"Scramble!" Whiplash's voice crested and wove through the harmonics of ecstatic gratitude and desire. So much want contained in that single word.

"Fingers, my valve," Jazz's growl rode the harmonics of his subordinate.

Unable to verbalize a reply, Scramble worked his mouth even harder around Whiplash's spike. He didn't even hesitate to follow Jazz's command, thrusting first one, then two fingers inside the willing valve.

Jazz arched and growled, his valve tightening around the intrusion. Nodes sparked charge to the fingers pressing against them in the slick tightness. Jazz gave a quiet series of rapid clicks in Whiplash's audio and the matte black mech let go of his backwards grip and leaned forward, catching Scramble's wings where they came in to the point of a V across his backstrut.

Slender, dexterous fingers dug under the armor to press against sensitive nodes in the wing-joints as he began to thrust into the mouth and glossa working his spike so delightfully.

"Scramble," Whiplash moaned deeply. "Yeah! Just like that!"

He arched into Whiplash's touch with a choked cry, pleasure spiking through his field. His mouth and hand faltered before he renewed thrusting fingers and sucking and stroking with his mouth and glossa with a new determination. He gave another growl of pleasure, twisting his fingers in Jazz's valve to try to hit even more nodes.

He knew almost as soon as Jazz when he found the primary cluster deep inside. The silver minibot gave a choked moan, his engine growling.

Another thrust and even Jazz began to loose track of the beat. Both spike and valve right on the edge the mirrored black visor turned off and the roaring charge of a duel overload slammed through him, tracing of it crackling along the armor to the mechs touching him.

It was all it took for Whiplash to let out a choking cry of his own. He bent over Scramble's helm, thrusting hard into the larger mech's mouth as the first spurt of transfluid rushed from his spike.

Feeling their overloads through their meshed EM fields dragged one out of Scramble. Even so, he managed to continue to thrust his fingers into the clenching valve and swallow the transfluid, trying to drag out their overloads that much further.

As the intensity wound down, he pulled his fingers free and gave that beautiful spike a few small licks to clean off the last of the transfluid. Each touch caused Whiplash to shiver, something Scramble felt every bit of as the small mech was effectively draped over his helm and shoulders, all but strutless.

When he drew his mouth away, just a bit, a light, sharp-clawed hand rested on his shoulder.

"When you give him back, I want a well-fragged, relaxed TIC," Jazz's voice purred in his audio. Then the silver mech was gone.

"Meddling CO," Whiplash mumbled faintly, though there wasn't a trace of actual resentment or irritation in his voice.

"Seems like one of the better kinds of meddling to me," Scramble replied in a low voice. His hands moved to the backs of Whiplash's hips before stroking up his sides. "I'm game for it. There was no way to mistake the still-aroused rumble of his engines.

Whiplash chuckled softly and struggled to right himself. "Definitely game. Your berth, or a room in town?"

Scramble leaned in to kiss Whiplash briefly. "Let's get a room." He nipped lightly at the black mech's lips. "You're hard to resist." He grinned and straightened up, though kept a lingering touch on the much smaller mech. It was impossible to miss, with the way his spike was demanding to be released, that the matte black minibot came mouth-level to his spike housing.

A mischievous grin slipped across Whiplash's features as he slid a hand along the lower edge of a wing and tugged forward. "I know a good one two blocks away, hot stuff. Then we'll see to that spike and value issue you've got."

"Lead the way, sexy." He eagerly followed Whiplash's direction, his own hand teasing the other mech's shoulder joints and small sensor winglets as they slowly unfolded from their habitual place pressed against Whiplash's back.

A rev of a high-performance grounder engine, an audible reminder that this mech was of high-quality construction and in very good condition, met the touch as they left the club. Whiplash didn't transform, though it would have been faster, out of courtesy to the Aerial that wouldn't do well with such a short hop in the middle of a thriving city. Even now, with some rationing in place, the war raging and its center of government in ruble, Iacon managed to maintain a sense of normalcy for the average mech.

Scramble raised an optic ridge when Whiplash turned into a hotel that seemed a bit higher end than the kind meant for a casual night of 'facing a stranger.

"Unusual choice." Not that he was complaining. A place like this would make for a very nice setting. Eager, appreciative optics returned to Whiplash and he molested those sensor winglets again.

A few optics turned to them, but it seemed that Whiplash's presence was all the explanation most needed, or wanted. A couple ultra-light two-wheel models shifted away from them, bright optics on the matte black minibot as he caught a passkey tossed to him without a word from the blue and silver mech at the main desk.

Whiplash purred a little deeper as he lead the way to an elevator in the back, one that required a passkey to even open.

"Jazz keeps a few rooms around town on a permanent basis," he explained and pressed his winglets shamelessly into the touch. "If they aren't needed for a mission, they're free to use for his agents."

"Nice little perk." Soon as the elevator doors closed, he knelt down to kiss Whiplash again, glossa lapping at the other mech's lips for entrance. One hand drifted down to a matte black hip to pull him in flush body to body.

"The room gonna be as good as it seems like it will be?"

"Better," Whiplash shivered into the touch and eagerly met the Aerial's glossa. "Top floor. An aerie," he moaned and dug his fingers into Scramble's wing-joints and wrapped his legs around the Aerial's hips. "Take me, right now," he growled with a shuddering rumble, his valve cover sliding open.

"Oooh..." Scramble gave a full-body shudder at the idea of the aerie, and eagerly wrapped his hands around Whiplash to hold him up against the wall. His spike practically exploded out of its housing, automatically sizing for his partner, and he sank it into the willing valve.

"Yes!" Whiplash cried out sharply as he arched into the contact. Completely comfortable in his pleasure, he squeezed the spike with his valve and silently urged the larger mech to press him against the wall. "Primus you feel good."

"So good..." Scramble's thrusts were firm and fast, each stroke causing the smaller mech to slide upwards against the wall. He arched over Whiplash, his own helm almost against the wall. As good as it felt, he made sure to pay attention to the entrancing mech allowing it. He wished he knew what was causing Whiplash to moan and writhe so much, his body on clear autopilot as his processors locked on something else that looked to be sending him into a near-overload bliss.

Vents gasped, struggling with their fans to keep their systems cool against the energy and heat that exploded across their bodies.

Whiplash whimpered, his chassis shaking as he arched back hard, pressing as much of himself against Scramble as he could.

Scramble groaned as Whiplash's obvious mindless pleasure stoked his own arousal higher. His thrusts began to speed up, his arms bracing on either side of Whiplash as his hips took the other mech's weight. Each thrust pressed the black mech even more against the wall, and the aerial's engines' low rumble spun up even higher, vibrating his frame.

It was all too much and Whiplash keened shamelessly as his valve and _frame_ overloaded hard around and against his lover. Harmonics and sounds that could have been an attempt at words flowed over Scramble's audios, but their intent was obvious: exquisite pleasure.

Scramble groaned and offlined his optics to listen to Whiplash. It only took a couple more thrusts before he overloaded as well, shooting transfluid into that exquisite heat clamped onto his spike.

He slid down to his knees as the charge bled from his body, slumping over and around his lover.

"That was amazing," Whiplash moaned lazily, his claws locked in crevices of Scramble's armor and his valve still rippling and milking the thick spike deep inside him.

Scramble agreed with a wordless hum, arms moving to wrap around Whiplash and hold him close for the moment. Only belatedly did he realize the elevator had stopped and the door was open. It wasn't to a hallway though, but a foyer of polish stone and metal of many colors. Quite possibly the finest room he'd ever seen.

"Berth?" Whiplash purred with a nuzzle to the chest plates in front of him.

He didn't realize he had begun to stare until Whiplash spoke. With a shudder at the sight of the room and the sky beyond, he tightened his arms around his lover and stood, striding quickly into the room. "Berth."

"On the left," Whiplash snuggled into the embrace, perfectly content to be carried still impaled on the thick spike through the foyer and the large social room it opened into.

Scramble rumbled an assent, wanting to get to the berth to continue their fun. Not that he had any objection to such fun spilling out into other parts of the room later. His fingers idly caressed the parts of Whiplash's frame they could reach while carrying him, as much to simply _touch_ as any attempt at arousal.

A playful glossa dipped between two armor plates on his chest, teasing the edges, ghosting across the wires underneath. "Any fantasies, hot stuff? Anything I can do for you?"

He trembled at the touch, one hand sliding up to return the touches on those winglets just as lightly. "Nothing real specific, though seeing you so undone in the elevator was _hot_ ," he couldn't help the engine rev emphasizing the last part. "I've dabbled a bit in games here and there to add some interest. Don't usually break out restraints on a first night." He chuckled at that last part, though there was a hint in his tone that if Whiplash cared for the last part, he might be able to get an exception out of Scramble.

After all, Scramble had no illusions that if the SpecOps TIC wanted, he could easily have the Aerial at his mercy even without any obvious restraints.

Mmm, I _like_ a lover big enough to cover me like that; bring me completely within their presence," Whiplash shivered right down to his core just in the memory of it. "Would you get off seeing me helpless? Bound and spread for your pleasure, to enjoy any way you wish."

"That sounds delicious." His engines gave a little rev of anticipation, even has he approached the large berth.

Whiplash smiled and nuzzled him, squeezing his valve around the thick spike deep inside it as he was set down. Another shiver rippled through his chassis as he was covered by the much larger mech. "There's a crate under the berth. Use anything you find appealing."

Scramble groaned at the feeling of the valve clenching around spike, indulging Whiplash a moment of being covered before reluctantly pulling back and out. "Sounds good to me." He leaned in to nuzzle Whiplash's cheek before moving to fish out the crate and check its contents. He wasn't sure what to think when he couldn't even work out what half the contents were, or how to use a good half of the remainder that he did recognize on some level. The simple bindings he was looking for were there, along with false-spikes of a variety of sizes and designs, some of which were even powered.

He gave the contents a quizzical look before shrugging and reaching in to grab the bindings and one of the powered false-spikes. "Interesting stuff you got there," he said simply. The lithe, exotic, black mech spread lifted his arms obligingly over his head, in exactly the right place for a fastening point artfully incorporated into the headboard.

Whiplash spread his legs, angling them to present his full interface array to his berthmate whether he was bound or not. Openly and easily offering the sensitive components for Scramble's pleasure.

"There are some _very_ kinky mechs in the division," he purred deeply. "I was taught by the best."

"Why am I not surprised?" Scramble teased lightly, nuzzling at Whiplash's hip joint even as he bound those lovely legs. Once restrained, he let his hands move up to explore the armor plates and joints of the smaller mech's chest. His glossa came out to do the same to the hip joint.

A low, delighted moan encouraged the touches, Whiplash's engine revving sharply as he pressed wantonly into the contact. "Because of the rumors I'm sure you heard? They're mostly true."

Scramble hummed against the joined before kissing and nibbling down his thigh. "As rumors tend to be." His hands returned to the parts of Whiplash's chest that gave better responses to ghost over them teasingly.

A low, chest-deep hum responded as Whiplash shivered in anticipation. "Tell me your fantasies, Scramble," he moaned shamelessly. "Tell me about what makes you _burn_ just to think about."

"You writhing," he rumbled, digging his claws to try to reach what sensors he can under the matte black armor. He wriggled his glossa in between thigh armor plates before continuing. "So desperate for overload that you're incoherent." He moved to repeat his attentions on the other thigh. "And yet there's nothing you can do to make it come faster."

"Nothing but beg, but try and make you _want_ to pound into me harder," Whiplash moaned as much from the words as the physical attention. "Listening to your vents struggle to cool you, the driving pulse of your spark as it swells with need, your roar as you overload and fill my valve, my mouth, with your fluid."

Scramble shuddered at the promise in his voice, engines and fans whirling faster, but didn't speed up his explorations with hands, mouth, and glossa. "As I do my best to make you wait. To listen to your engines and the _sounds_ you make as I take my time to touch and lick every part of your body before I even get to your spike and valve." He let his hands drift up and tease along Whiplash's arms. "I want to see how much I can wring out of you before I let you overload."

The lithe black mech shuddered and whined, making no effort to still his vocalizer or his reactions. "You'll get a lot," he gasped at a touch to the exact spot where his chest plates lock. "I'm not partial to being quiet in my pleasure."

Scramble moved up to press an open-mouthed kiss over that spot. "Lovely," he growled against his plates. He brought one hand up to brace on the berth for balance while the other moved down to begin exploring Whiplash's foot. "I wonder how often I can get you to scream." He licked up from the base of the seam on Whiplash's chestplates to the top.

He arched up hard into the lick, chirring into a deeply resonant moan that broke into a small cry when the glossa passed over his spark chamber. "Often," he gasped out, his spike hard and exposed, his valve slick and open. "Primus below, such a tease!"

Scramble groaned at Whiplash's response and repeated the lick. "As if that's a bad thing, when there's plenty of time." He stroked up the trapped leg to trace around his interface equipment, so close but not touching.

A strangled, frustrated whining cry escaped Whiplash as he tried to thrust into the touch. "Please, baby. _Please_. Want your spike."

"What about my valve?" Scramble moaned, moving to nibble on the black shoulder, nuzzling in to his neck. His hand moved away from Whiplash, but only to grab the false-spike. He brought it over to stroke against his hip joint before turning it on to vibrate.

A sharp gasp, one full of knowledge, and Whiplash tried to spread his legs further apart, to expose his valve that much more.

"Yes, anything," he willingly played up the very real responses, enjoying this relatively mellow lover. So many who became fixated on an Ops mech wanted to dominate and _hurt_ , not realizing that between Shockwave, Soundwave, Vortex and Jazz there was precious little an Ops officer hadn't endured and turned around. So few realized how much was act and what was real ... and that all of it mattered for nothing for a mech that could switch personality profiles with barely a soft-reboot. "Want you." _Want whatever you want, whatever will satisfy this need of yours and turn your attention elsewhere._

And not all domination was based on pain. There was a great power in drawing out the pleasure of a helpless lover, of reveling in their responses as he tried to stimulate every sensor node within reach.

Scramble drew the vibrating false-spike down the opposite hip joint before pressing it just under the valve, coating it in the dripping lubricant. "You're so hot. Mechs should be falling over themselves for a chance with you." He wriggled his glossa into the little sensitive spots in Whiplash's neck before trailing it up to his audio.

"Most are afraid of me, or my boss," he moaned and wiggled, turning his head to claim a kiss, playing his glossa across the Aerial's lips plates. "Ops don't play outside our own much."

Scramble kissed him slowly, letting their glossas tangle. "And I'm certain the reserve is well-deserved." There was no denying that Ops saw a much darker side of war than the rest. "Almost waited to see if I could catch you alone myself." He nipped at those lips before bringing the false-spike up to those lips, grinding his lower body against Whiplash's spike and valve as he encouraged the lithe mech to swallow.

It wasn't an idea that Whiplash even thought about hesitating at. He opened his mouth and accepted the false-spike, vibrating enticingly against his glossa, and gave it as much attention as he would a lover's spike. He lapped and swirled his glossa around the flared tip, lifting his head to take a little more in before drawing back to give a better show of what he could do with his lips and glossa. Not for a moment did Whiplash forget he was performing, and it made his valve _burn_ to be filled.

The Aerial groaned at the sight, his own glossa reaching out to tease along those lips, tasting the lubricants that had transferred to them. He ground against Whiplash's spike and valve, his own free and aching and dripping from the promise.

::Please, babe. My valve is _burning_ for you. For anything.:: Whiplash opened the ultra-short range comm so he could talk without stopping his performance on the false-spike. ::Wants you so bad it _hurts_. I'll do anything, just _use_ me!::

Scramble pulled the false-spike out, only to replace it with his own glossa. ::Does it?:: He pressed the tip of the false spike against that wonderful valve. ::Right here?:: 

::Yes!:: Whiplash keened shamelessly, thrusting his hips up to try and draw the hard, vibrating length into himself.

Scramble gave a sharp thrust, seating the vibrating length deep in Whiplash. His mouth locked on the matte back mech's, intent on devouring him.

::Yes!:: Whiplash screamed across the comm, his vocalizer coming close to the sound as the calipers and flexible valve walks clamped down hard, milking and working the false spike to rub and vibrate against his most sensitive spots. His mouth opened fully, welcoming his lover in and offering all the willing, eager, aroused submission possible.

The larger mech nipped at the other's lips before plundering his mouth again. His hand pulled the false spike out slowly before thrusting it back in hard. This time he pushed it all the way in. ::Close up. Trap it in where you want it.::

With a whimper and shiver of pure, exquisite ecstasy did as he was ordered, moaning and arching his hips up before rocking them in a mimic of spike/valve interfacing. Oh _pits_ that felt good.

::When ... when may I overload, master?:: Whiplash asked, testing if that level of dominance excited his lover.

Scramble shivered at the sounds he made at having the vibrations trapped in his valve, but then broke the kiss and glanced down him in surprise at the question.

"When you do," he rumbled against the fin on the black helm. He arched his back to bring his hips up and sank his valve onto that beautifully decorated spike with a deep groan of pleasure. He listened to it echoed by the mech under him, felt the undulating thrusts as Whiplash drove upwards to set himself fully.

"Just checking," the black mech purred. He met Scramble's bright orange optics through his rich green visor and opened a half dozen ports and cables along his frame. "Feel with me?" he moaned, half offering, half asking.

Scramble hesitated for a fraction of a moment before giving into desires, his own ports opening and cables moving to plug into the offered ports. "Yes." He rose until just the tip of the spike was inside before dropping back on it. "So good..." he moaned as Whiplash screamed his pleasure, screaming Scramble's designation as pulses of data of raw energy ricocheted between them wildly.

~Oh Primus,~ Whiplash cried across the hardline connection. He didn't ask for any more access than he was given; that wasn't what this connection was about. In an offer he allowed his emotional response, his arousal and what spiked it, to filter in with the physical sensations.

Scramble keened both across the hardline and into Whiplash's audio. He started to ride Whiplash's spike hard and fast. Pleasure rose fast as it bounced between them and the larger mech let his upper body drop down to press his lover into the berth even as kept moving his hips on the lithe mech. He wanted, _needed_ to hear and feel the way his lover responded to being surrounded in such a way.

The way Whiplash's chassis tightened, arching and roiling against him, it could easily be mistaken for struggling. With the hardline, though, with the lithe mech's emotional and physical responses laid out for him as clear as his own, Scramble understood the intensity of pleasure his lover received just being covered like this. The interfacing stimulation was almost secondary. It felt _incredibly_ good, but it was the roll and charge of a larger, heavier armored chassis over his, holding him, _covering_ him ... _protecting him_ ... that drew the sharpest responses.

As the intensity of Whiplash's response rolled over into him, it wiped away Scramble's own higher processes. It felt so _good_ to be the source of such pleasure. And the core of it, that feeling of being protected, drew a matching desire _to_ protect from the deepest parts of his core programming.

His hips moved faster, frantically, impaling himself on the spike again and again. At the same time he pressed down on his lover, wrapping him physically and in his flaring field.

It was more than Whiplash could take and he screamed his lover's designation until his vocalizer shorted out from the abuse. Energy exploded into Scramble's systems, tearing into him with frightening intensity, if it hadn't felt so incredibly good. Even more so with the matching rush of hot, slick and slightly sticky fluids into his valve.

The Aerial matched his scream with one of his own. He ground his hips down on Whiplash's as his valve clamped down on the spike. Energy arched up his wings as the overload rolled through his entire body.

After several long moments, but still far too soon, he sank down over his smaller lover, spent. The only sound from him were his fans trying to disperse the excess heat as fast as they were capable of.

Under him, Whiplash squirmed and whimpered, his chassis twisting and pressing up as the charge began to build again.

Scramble shifted, causing the black-green-silver spike to pop from his valve, and slid down to kiss Whiplash lazily. Even though he kept Whiplash pressed down with his body, his hands released the restraints holding the matte black arms. Once done with that, his own arms came down around Whiplash's shoulders with his hands meeting above his helm.

"Another round?" Whiplash shivered, his arousal building fast as he thrust his hips up reflexively from the pleasure in his valve.

"I'm not sure I have another one in me at the moment," Scramble rumbled regretfully. "But I can at least take care of yours." He nipped at Whiplash's lips before kissing and nuzzling his way down, finally licking at the closed valve cover.

With a throaty moan, Whiplash released the cover, though it did little to calm the effects of the vibrating, pulsing false spike seated deep inside.

Scramble tried to lick and suck up all the fluids that came spilling out of the valve. He hummed in pleasure at the taste, then let his glossa slide in to circle around the base of the false spike. Small but strong hands came down on his helm as slender legs tried to curl up, only to be stopped by the bonds.

"Oh yeah," Whiplash moaned wantonly, his hips rocking into the ministrations. "Push it deeper, babe. All the way in, deep."

The larger mech hummed his assent against that wonderful valve, pressing his glossa in further, pressing the false spike in deeper in turn. His hands moved down to release the leg restraints before sliding back up the legs to hold his hips in place as he drove in deeper.

Almost immediately those slender legs coiled upwards and wrapped over his shoulders. Dexterous pedes teased at wings as Whiplash lost himself in the pleasure of his valve. Despite his overloads, he still had a lot in him before he collapsed, though he was more than willing to let this be it.

Scramble rumbled at the pleasure from the touches to his wings, though it didn't bring up arousal. He began a cycle of pulling his glossa back only to have it surge back into Whiplash's valve to make the false spike hit the top of the slick passage. His clawtips began to work their way into his hip joints.

"Left claws ... Yes!" Whiplash roared and bucked, the building charge crackling through him and into Scramble before bouncing back into Whiplash to draw another shameless cry from the lithe black mech. "Close!"

He flexed his claws to try to get at what near them felt good his lover. At the same time he growled against Whiplash's valve, surging his glossa into him with as much force as he could manage. It was all too much for Whiplash and the matte black mech keened a scream of 'Scramble' and thrust his hips up hard against his lover's mouth as his legs and hands tightened, holding the Aerial in place for the full duration of the near-desperately hot overload.

Scramble didn't even try to move away, slowly circling his glossa in his valve to try to drag out the overload for as long as it will go.

When Whiplash finally collapsed on the berth, his vents working frantically to the point he'd opened his armor gasps up fully to suck in air that way, making him appear to be heaving like an organic after exertion.

"Primus mech, you're good," the lithe mech gasped out.

"Thank you," Scramble replied as he pulled his mouth away. "It helps to have a partner as intoxicating as you." And he meant it completely.

He carefully reached in with a claw to pull out the false spike, turning it off in the process. It was set to the side, then the Aerial moved up to curl around Whiplash. He positioned himself half on his side, half on his front, with one wing unconsciously blocking Whiplash from view from above.

With a thrumming purr Whiplash snuggled in against him, his processors humming with warmth at the gesture. A warmth and understanding that filtered through the hardline connection still linking them as they settled into recharge.


	2. The Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next morning Whiplash gets to be in charge. More porntastic stuff.

Scramble reluctantly began to rouse as his internal alarm went off. He shut it down, too comfortable to move at the moment. His optics powered up and he smiled at the sight of the lithe black mech recharging in his arms. Memory returned then and he hummed at the remembered pleasure of the night before. There was no questioning Whiplash's skills in the berth, but oh the pleasure he had felt in the other's systems... The Aerial shivered at the memory. Scramble hoped he could get another chance to 'face with him, and soon. He was sure he had only seen the tip of what the SpecOps mech could do.

The Aerial paused as he finally noticed his message indicator blinking at him. He pulled up the new message and was surprised to find a revised schedule, with others covering what were his shifts for the next few orns. He grinned in realization, then frowned again. Red Alert would likely be rather upset at Jazz's meddling. Several of the redundant security systems had needed updating, badly, and only he and Red Alert had the access codes for them at the moment. Without him there, Red would have to leave his lair to update them or leave them as they were until Scramble's unanticipated leave was over.

After a moment he shrugged. What was done was done, and there was no use worrying about it until he went back on-shift. If something truly urgent occurred, he'd get the emergency summons.

Scramble returned his attentions to his recharging lover. He had been amazed the first time he saw the matte black mech; hadn't believed that it was possible for a mech to be so stunningly beautiful. Even though he was similar to his commander, there was something about him that the security agent couldn't name, but it was enough to make his engines rumble in a way the Autobot SIC didn't. He hadn't acted on it at the time, they were both on-duty and his attention needed to be on the meeting discussing the myriad flaws the SpecOps agents had found in the security system. However, there was no denying that the image of Whiplash hadn't left his processor since.

A soft, light brush of Whiplash's EM field against him was the only indicator the dark mech was powering up until the matte finish visor began to glow softly and Whiplash smiled up at him.

"I'm guessing my boss just rearranged your schedule," he chuckled softly, his tone still warm, content and sated.

Scramble was unable to resist kissing that smile, and he hummed in agreement. "Red Alert's not going to be happy with him about it." He nuzzled Whiplash's cheek.

He snickered and returned the affectionate gesture. "Glitch owes us enough favors not to take it out on you. Energon?"

"Sure." Scramble smiled and sat up. "What kinds you got here?"

"Everything from low-grade to some special brews you don't talk about," Whiplash chuckled and rolled to his pedes with a fluid grace that was all confidence and sensuality. "Any preference?"

"A good high grade." Scramble's optics followed the lithe mech appreciatively, even as he stretched out himself, leaning back on his hands. His armor rippled and puffed out in an unconscious return display. "How long are you off?" The security mech wouldn't be surprised if it matched up with his new free time.

"Until Jazz needs me," he smiled over his shoulder before turning to pay attention to the direct-connection lock. "I'd be surprised not to have a decaorn off, since I just got back from a mission. War's not that hot yet."

"Nice little hunk of free time." Scramble took the moment to get a better look of the suite. It was lovely, very well maintained with very unusual material as the ceiling and much of the walls, giving it the feel of a generic aerie. He could see out, see everything around them, but his optics automatically registered their one-way nature. They'd appear mirrored from the outside.

"It comes with the job," he explained as he filled tow cubes, adding several types of additives to the standard grade. "A short mission is usually at least a decaorn, some last vorns. We don't have any down time during that. So when we get back, we get make-up time. It's nothing like the way your work is."

Scramble made a noise to express his understanding, fascinated by the view of the sky that was so important to all fliers. "And I'm sure I wouldn't want to know what happens on those missions, even if you could tell me."

"I have little doubt on both counts," Whiplash nodded as he came back to the berth and offered the larger of the two cubes to his lover. "We don't often share with other Ops most of the time."

The Aerial's gaze returned to Whiplash as he accepted the cube. "What do you normally do on your downtime? I assume 'facing security mechs isn't the standard pastime."

The matte black mech laughed brightly and freely as he settled and took a sip of his energon. "'Facing in general is. Ops is a pretty good definition of the 'work hard, play hard' processor set. When I'm off, I party and try to enjoy functioning as much as possible. I've got nothing on Jazz; he's far more social than I am, but I'm known on sight and rep in most clubs and bars worth going to ... and more than a few most Autobots wouldn't be caught deactivated in."

Scramble took a sip of his own drink and hummed in pleasure, wings fluttering. He hadn't been sure what to expect from a homebrew, but this was as good as what he had been drinking at the bar. "This is good!" He took another, larger drink and then paused to savor it on the way down. 

After that he reached over to slide his arm casually around Whiplash's waist and hip and found the smaller mech eager to climb into his lap again.

"We do have standards," Whiplash chuckled and snuggled in. "What about you? What are your hobbies, besides stalking me, that is."

"And besides the obvious?" he teased, twitching his wings to imply flying. "Mostly read and do other quiet activities, until I feel the need to get out for a night of dancing and 'facing."

"A quiet one," Whiplash chuckled, relaxing as he drank. "Any favorite genres or authors?"

"Fiction, mostly. I particularly enjoy World Builder's early work, and much of Glyphweave. I also have a much too large collection of half-cred erotic fiction." He grinned at that last part, teasing his hip joint briefly.

Whiplash grinned at him. "Far more acceptable than most of my reading material," he laughed playfully. "So far I'm still entirely too amused reading Jazz's commentary on history files and essays on the finer points of my craft. The half-cred's are fun too, though I prefer the organic world erotic imports. Most of those races make us look like unimaginative prudes."

"I'll take that as a recommendation of the imports," Scramble rumbled, hand teasing Whiplash to distract from the slight tension that ran through him for a moment.

It didn't fool the Ops mech in the least, and Whiplash gave him a curious look. "I'm not saying your writing's bad, mech," he offered with a smile.

Scramble startled, gazing at him in open shock. "You know?"

"Scramble, we did a full _SpecOps_ background check on you the moment you became interested in me. Standard procedure. We needed to make sure you were who and what you presented yourself as before we moved forward with this plan," he explained gently. "It's nothing personal."

"Who else knows?"

"Right now, probably just Jazz, myself, and Inferno though Red Alert, but he knew before you were accepted into Security," Whiplash explained, his voice gentle. "We aren't trying to out you. We did need to know who I was going to invite here. If you'd been an agent it's a very different protocol than if you were a good Autobot who just found me too enticing to let go."

Scramble relaxed at that. "That's fine. I assumed Red Alert had figured it out long ago. I just don't want the rest to know." He leaned in and nuzzled Whiplash. "You _are_ very enticing...."

" _You're_ better than I anticipated," Whiplash growled and shifted to claim a heated kiss. "You have no idea how rare it is to have someone fixated on _me_ and not my rank."

"Such a shame." Scramble kissed him back, licking those black lips to draw him into a glossa-duel. "Everyone deserves to be treated as a person." He let his hands drift up to molest those fascinating winglets and moaned into the eager fluttering they gave at the gentle touch.

Whiplash arched and pressed into the kiss, the touch and the Aerial's chassis. His glossa invaded his lover's mouth, showing Scramble his dominant, demanding side with a gentle start.

Scramble surrendered to him with a low moan, welcoming his glossa. He encouraged Whiplash with long strokes down his back.

"Mmm, may I bind you?" the lithe mech murmured into their kiss.

Scramble didn't reply at first, though he kept kissing Whiplash. After a long moment, he pulled back to let out a long out-vent. "Yes."

"You don't _have_ to, Scramble," Whiplash focused on him completely. "There's nothing wrong if you aren't comfortable going there."

"I _want_ to. I wouldn't have agreed if I wasn't alright with it." His gaze was open and honest as he looked in his lover's visor.

Whiplash nodded and let it go as he slid off the berth to go digging in the toy box. He came up with a set of wrist binders with heavy chains sized for a mech much larger than the SpecOps agent. "Do you want a safeword?"

He followed the matte black mech's form with his optics, engines rumbling with the stirrings of arousal. "It would be appreciated." None of the play he engaged in before needed one, but he had a feeling that playing with Whiplash would be _much_ more intense.

A simple nod and Whiplash walked to the head of the berth to bind Scramble's wrists over his head. "You choose the word. It shouldn't be something that can't mean anything other than you really want me to stop; something that won't come up in normal conversation. A word you'll remember easily." He paused and moved around so they could easily meet optics. "I've never had someone use a safeword," he said with some pride. "I always have one in place when I'm the dominant one though."

Scramble relaxed into his touch, easily allowing him to put on the restraints as he thought about what to use as a safeword. He grinned at Whiplash's pride. "You must be very good, then."

"When you learned by being taught how to break someone, it's relative sparkling play to use that to read the difference between good stress and bad," Whiplash gave him a knowing, playful smile.

Scramble's optics sparked with humor as he decided on word. "Lovecraft."

"Nice," Whiplash revved his engine in approval. "Neither of us are likely to mistake your writing psudo for anything else."

"And yet it's easily remembered." The Aerial shifted his arms, testing the limits allowed to him by the restraints. His gaze on Whiplash turned sultry as his engines rumbled their approval of the feeling.

With a knowing, seductive smile, Whiplash trailed his fingers along Scramble's chassis as he moved to the toy chest and opened it fully. He took out each item, examining it while keeping his sensors on his lover as Scramble was given a good view.

A simple whip, the kind that caused no damage and barely a sting, came out first to be slid and twisted between Whiplash's strong, slender fingers.

Scramble rumbled and shifted to give him an equally enticing view as he watched the lithe mech go through the contents of the chest. He was eager to see what the SpecOps mech knew and could do. His optics locked on those slender digits as they played with the whip.

Whiplash took in the look and set the whip down on the berth before picking up a second one. _This_ was contraband, an electron whip, bladed and able to be powered. This could kill; it was designed to kill in deathmatch area battles. Scramble raised an optic ridge in reply, clearly less interested in that.

A nod and it was put away. Replaced by a false spike that was large, even for the Aerial, lined with ridges and a six-line spiral of raised nubs of various sizes.

A spike of arousal shot through him at the sight, engines automatically spinning up. It drew a smile from Whiplash, who gave the false spike a long, sensuous lick before placing it on the berth edge with two others, similarly unusual but smaller.

Next out was a sphere of chrome-finished metal half the size of Whiplash's palm.

"What is that?" he asked, unashamed of his more limited knowledge base of the finer arts of interfacing.

"A spike stimulator," Whiplash purred with many memories of it's use. "When activated it sends tendrils to wrap around your spike and outer valve nodes, stimulating them directly while grounding enough of the charge to act as an overload inhibitor for both."

"Ooo..." Scramble gave a full-body shudder at that description, engines keying up even higher.

Whiplash chuckled and tossed a couple on the berth before fishing out pede restraints and giving an inquiring look at his lover.

Scramble responded by shifting his pedes out encouragingly. If his lover wanted to retrain his pedes, he would find _no_ resistance. He shivered at Whiplash's fingers played along his flank, then down one leg to tease the thrusters in his pedes as he bound them, spread apart.

"You look good," the lithe mech purred as he came around to the toy box again. "Let's see what else is in here," he murmured to himself, rummaging around even though he knew every item and it's place intimately well. "No blindfold, I want you to see me. No gag, you moan too well. Sparkplay?" he glanced up to met his lover's optics.

"Not now." Scramble shook his helm. That was one thing he couldn't bring himself to do in such a casual 'facing session, no matter how promising his partner.

Another nod and Whiplash looked back at the box before selecting a short blade. He looked at Scramble as he played with it between his fingers, showing off just how well he knew how to handle it.

Scramble's arousal settled into a slow burn, optics watching the SpecOps mech in appreciation for his obvious skill even though he had no particular interest in the knife itself.

With a considering hum, Whiplash purred, closed the box and stepped away. "Do you enjoy watching? To see my dance by myself just for you?"

He shuddered at the thought. "You dancing, getting yourself off, with someone else. So sexy..."

"Perhaps I will dance with another tomorrow," he thrummed his engine and slipped into an ancient dance from noble houses that had died out long ago. Blades flashed, armor shifted and clicked, exposing protoform and drawing attention across the lithe matte black body.

Scramble's attention was instantly and completely on him as his fans whirled to life. With every coy look and seductive twist, Whiplash played on his desires. The blade slid down black armor, the only reflective thing in the graceful darkness.

He watched, entranced, as Whiplash circled the berth and picked up the largest of the false spikes. Without a sound he climbed onto the berth and played the false spike down Scramble's chassis, running the tip along the Aerial's fully extended spike to slowly circle the quivering valve entrance.

Scramble groaned at the touch, arching into it as much as the restraints would let him. "Please..."

A smile crossed Whiplash's features and he slowly, oh so slowly, pressed the large false spike into that very eager valve. Every ridge and bump made his valve entrance quiver and enflamed the lining in a most delightful way, dragging out a deep moan from the Aerial. 

"Whiplaaaash..."

The black mech's engine revved in response, but he didn't speed the slide of toy into valve. Instead he shifted from a single slide to a tiny thrusting. Each time he withdrew the false spike a fingers width he thrust it in just a little deeper than before. Watching the whimpering, moaning, needy mech under him caused Whiplash's own fans kicked up a notch.

"Oh please, please!" Scramble shuddered, trying to move his hips to take in more of the false spike, completely and willing at the SpecOps mech's mercy.

"Keep begging, lovely," Whiplash purred, his vents hitching slightly as his fingers felt the rim of Scramble's valve. Oh, this one was _fun_. "I love your voice lost in pleasure."

"Please, more, please!" Scramble begged, pressing into his lover's touch. His valve rippled around the false spike, pleasure jolting up his spinal column. As good as the false spike felt, Whiplash's control over him felt just as good.

A smile crossed black features under the matte black visor. He teased the large sensor nodes around the rim of Scramble's valve, giving tiny movements of the false spike before pushing it all the way in and withdrawing his fingers to leave it buried deep.

"Close your valve cover," Whiplash purred even as he rolled forward to pick up the second-largest false spike, this one studded randomly along its length.

Scramble whimpered and moaned, but obeyed, closing the valve cover. He continued to ripple his valve around it and jerk his hips, watching the matte black mech eagerly to see what he would do next. He didn't have long to wait until Whiplash straddled his chest, valve and spike bared and heavy with arousal.

"Tell me, should I use your glossa or this," he played the false spike down his body, "to pleasure myself with?"

"Want to taste you, please!" His engines raced in arousal and pleasure, wanting to return that pleasure.

"Then I'll begin with this," he purred, moaning shamelessly as he canted his hips to give his bound lover the perfect view of the false spike, it's nubs now moving up and down as well as around, as he teased himself with the tip around the lubricant-glistening rim of his valve.

Scramble moaned at the sight, transfixed. He continued to work his valve around the false spike. "Please, please!" He didn't know what he was asking for, to be allowed to taste, or for Whiplash to continue with what he was doing.

It really didn't matter in the end. He could _feel_ the way it revved the minibot's engine and field simply to hear the words, the tone. He knew without a doubt that the lithe mech got off on control just as much as he did being covered and controlled.

A ragged moan ripped from Scramble's vocalizer when the false spike was thrust all the way in with a single stroke, the pleasured gasp it draw from Whiplash as he was so abruptly _full_.

"Oh, sexy, please..." the Aerial continued to babble, rippling his valve around the one inside of him. He tried to reach for the mech on top of him, wanting to bring him up to taste, but was foiled by the restraints on his arms. That fired him up even more, to want to touch but be entirely unable.

With a shaky vent Whiplash drew the object out, moaning as he pushed it back in. Slowly, as the cycle continued, he relaxed back until he was resting on Scramble's chassis, his pedes under his aft and knees on the berth.

Only then did his full attention shift to pleasuring himself. The optics devouring him were intense, making him shake all over.

Scramble moaned as he watched helplessly, encouraging him and begging for more alternately. The false spike in his valve helped keep his _need_ up, but the pleasure from it was nowhere near enough to even begin building to overload.

He was trembling right along with Whiplash when the black mech shuddered hard and shoved the false spike in deep with a keening scream that arched his backstrut completely off Scramble's chassis until only aft and helm touched the Aerial. The energy crackling with the powerful overload slammed into Scramble through their meshed EM fields, pushing him right to the edge of an overload but not into it.

Scramble's moans trailed off into whimpers as his processors began to blank from the unfulfilled _need_. He moaned again, arching up into his lover, trying to beg for more while unable to form words. He continued to whimper and whine, writhing as Whiplash gasped and recovered on top of him.

"Now," the black mech murmured as he came back to himself and reached over and back to grab the spike stimulator. "To get you _really_ riled up."

"Ooooh," was all the Aerial managed to get out, his hips bucking up as much as the restraints would allow. Then his own pleasure became secondary as he watched Whiplash pull a second spike stimulator out. His optics became glued to the sight of the fine strands and thicker tentacles wrap around the already exotic and intricate spike. He shuddered when Whiplash jerked sharply at the first rush of sensation from it.

Scramble whimpered again at the sight, a fresh burst of want/need rushing through his systems as he watched Whiplash begin to pleasure himself with the false spike once more.

The small mech's vocals rose sharply, the pitch quickly reaching that line between intense pleasure and pain. He trembled, already on the edge despite the resent overload. Despite that he continued to pleasure himself with both toys.

The larger mech made a garbled sound that might have been an attempt at Whiplash's name as he arched up into him. His own unstated need, coupled with the feeling of the lithe mech's through their EM fields, made his circuits _burn_. He wanted more. More of feeling Whiplash's pleasure, his overloads. More pleasure that would lead to an overload, but not yet, dragging it out as long as possible. He was unable to articulate this, but tried to express it through his own body's responses and his moans.

Energy torn through Whiplash again, his intakes shuddering and fluids flowing freely from his valve to pool on Scramble's chest. The jet wasn't coherent enough to understand the click of locks opening on his bonds. They still held him, but there was no strength behind the hold now.

He cried out at the feel of his lover's overload, trailing off into a moaning whimper. He jerked his hips up, trying to feel as much of the black mech's body as possible. He nearly keened in desperation when Whiplash pulled the false spike from his valve and began slowly, carefully, licking it clean with visor locked on optics.

He began to tremble, watching those lips and that glossa work the lubricants from the false spike.

With a wicked grin Whiplash set the false spike aside and slid back until he could reach back and lightly fondle the thick, long spike struggling to overload with the combined stimulation and dampening effects of the spike toy.

Scramble roared as he surged up, not even noticing the lack of resistance around his limbs. He grabbed Whiplash as he flipped them over pressing him into the berth and grinding his spike against the smaller mech. He wasn't even coherent enough to understand what changed when his spike was suddenly enveloped by slick heat. All he could track was the pleasure and the way Whiplash's field roared and pulled at his in unadulterated ecstasy.

"YES!" Whiplash roared and relaxed, going limp and pliant in the larger mech's grip as he was ground into the berth and spike so hard he nearly overloaded right there with the first thrust.

The Aerial immediately began pounding into the smaller mech, driving him into the berth. Energy crackled over his plating as pleasure rushed through his body, rising to the point of no return. It wasn't long before he overloaded in valve, spike, and body. His cries of ecstasy mingled with those of his lover below him.

After several long moments of the most intense overload in his life, he sank down over Whiplash with a blissful sigh, shifting just enough so he didn't injure the other mech when he sank into a sated recharge.


	3. Going Back to Work

Scramble hummed to himself as he headed for his station for his first shift back. He had just returned with Whiplash, playfully escorting him back to the Ops area of base in a literal take on Jazz's request. 

His time in the hotel aerie with Whiplash had been every bit as amazing and pleasure-filled as rumor said Ops were capable of, if not _better_. No other lover he had taken before could compare. A wide, sated grin spread over his face and his armor trembled at the remembered pleasure. He reached his destination far too soon for his bliss-filled processors and entered in his code to open the door.

"So you're back," Red Alert's voice was full of acid, though he wasn't _angry_ or glitching. "Or is this to turn in your resignation?"

"No resignation." Scramble replied easily, his good mood too deep in his processors to even think of taking offense at the remark.

Red Alert gave a huff, but long familiarity with his CO allowed Scramble to translate it to the relieved 'good' it was.

"Then get going on checking the cameras on base," Red Alert shoved a datapad towards his subordinate.

"Yes, sir," he replied automatically, shaking himself out of the dreamy state he was in. He flipped on the datapad and noted the locations that Red Alert wanted checked before heading to the first one. It was a job he didn't enjoy -- purposefully, no doubt -- but he would still do it. He was ill-suited to wriggling into the small spaces where the cameras were, and lack of a path to the sky always skittered along his nerves.

Reaching the first camera, he began checking it over. Once he was plugged in, he opened a comm to Red Alert at the security sensor. "Standard Check on Camera 1. You picking it up?"

"Confirmed," his superior's voice sounded calmer, the last of his irritation soothed by the check and Scramble's 'punishment' for abandoning his post. Thank and possibly Inferno had joined him.

Really, Scramble consented, it could have been much, much worse. He'd seen his boss completely glitch on mechs who took a weekend off with too little notice for the Security Chief's taste.

Satisfied that the first camera was working properly, he made is way to the second one to start the short process all over again.

"Hay, look who's back!" A familiar voice drew Scramble's attention as he stopped at the next camera, this one in an open hallway.

"Hello, Wavecut," he replied with a grin for the security mech on his patrol.

"So is rumor true," he rumbled, eager for the gossip. "That you really took _time off_ to frag that Ops mech?"

"More like had a surprise granting of time off," he corrected with a grin. There was no mistaking the pleased shifting of his armor at the unusual opportunity.

Wavecut laughed brightly. "Was it worth it?" he motioned towards Scramble's current duty.

"Very." The look in his optics turned dreamy as he remembered. "SpecOps are every bit as good as rumor says."

"Details, mech," his blue optics glittered brightly. "I want details. Is he kinky? Did he hurt you? Do they really keep the best toy chests this side of Vos?"

Scramble laughed. "I don't give details. However, the toy chest is rather extensive."

The sea mech trilled in excitement. "Any recommendations for me to pick up next? You know how much Deep Diver likes new toys."

"There was a spike toy that also inhibits overload. That was _very_ nice to play with."

The Aerial suddenly grimaced as Red Alert pinged his comm. "Need to get back to work. Red Alert's comming me."

"Ditto," Wavecut wince himself as his own comm went off.

* * *

With a sigh of relief, Scramble sat down in one of the large rec rooms where energon was dispensed and mechs from all units and divisions gathered to socialize, drink their rations and relax after a shift. The Aerial in Security was no exception, even if his energon was far richer than most of his fellows.

"So, do you want the vid of that show at the club?" Smokescreen's jovial voice broke into his very pleasant memory replays.

Scramble glanced up and smiled at the diversionary tactician. "Is there a copy available?" He shivered at the thought of being able to watch that dance again and again...

"Of course," he purred. "Just a hundred creds and it's all yours."

The Aerial didn't even flinch at the price. "You got it."

"What's he got?" the familiar chirp announced Fireflight's arrival.

Scramble smiled at the much younger Aerial. "He's selling me a video from the last night I was at a club."

The too-cute, large-opticked new mechling trilled in acceptance, then cocked his head. "It's ... special?"

"He went home with a mech he likes," Slingshot's deeper trill, still not quite an adult voice but closer to it, explained as the other Aerialbots joined around the table.

"And had a very good time with him," he added to the explanation.

"Do tell," Air Raid revved his engines. "Who?"

"Whiplash." Scramble couldn't help the note of lust when he said the name.

The young fliers looked at each other, the gestalt bond buzzing as they worked out just who that was.

"Jazz's TIC," Smokescreen chuckled. "Pretty little matte black thing. Easy to overlook, which you'll regret."

"Looks much like Jazz too. And he's _very_ good at what he does." The elder Aerial shuddered in remembrance.

"If you ever get a chance for 'facing with a member of SpecOps, take the opportunity. It's well worth it," he advised the mechlings.

"But you're still functioning," Fireflight looked confused, causing Smokescreen to smirk.

"That's a rumor _they_ started. They don't literally eat sparks. Still doesn't advise to piss one off," Smokescreen explained as he unsubspaced a datachip.

Scramble nodded, transferred the hundred credits to the other's account and closed his fingers around his prize. His systems were all revved up already.

"Why don't you join us in our aerie?" Silverbolt offered politely, though a brush of the large Aerial's field proved it was genuine. "Unless you're going to meet him again."

"I want to see the recording," Fireflight chirped.

"I'll join you. We didn't make plans to meet up, though if he offered again I would agree in a sparkbeat." He reached over to pet Fireflight. "We can watch it together."

"Then let's go," Fireflight chirred and grabbed Scramble's hand.

"I'll get everyone's energon," Air Raid cheered and darted off towards the dispenser.

"Maybe you can teach is a few things he taught you," Silverbolt rumbled powerful engines as he pressed against Scramble's back and wings.

"I'm sure there's still plenty to teach you, mechlings," Scramble teased. He wrapped his one trapped arm around Fireflight and leaned back into Silverbolt with a hum of pleasure.

A hand, he thought belonged to Slingshot, found the bottom edge of his wings and began playing with his ailerons.

"You know, I hope that glitch of an assassin is okay with this," Ironhide's rumble distracted them all. "I'd hate to loose the lot of you. We don't have enough wings as it is."

The hum lowered a couple notches, before he chuckled at Ironhide's comment. "I'm sure you have nothing to worry about, mech." That said, he leaned over to nuzzle Skydive, who nuzzled him in return. He could feel the unease skitter across their fields though. Even as mechlings, they understood that Whiplash was a dangerous mech to anger.

"You're sure he won't mind?" Silverbolt asked, taking his duty as the gestalt leader seriously even at such a young age.

"He has no reason to," the elder Aerial reassured them. "It was nothing more than a casual 'facing session. He has no ties on me, and I none on him. Yes, it is unusual for Ops to do so outside of their group, but not unheard of."

"All right," Silverbolt accepted his word with the faith of the young as he began to encourage his brothers to leave the room, bringing Scramble with them.

Scramble kept his arm around Fireflight as they headed for the Aerialbots' quarters, chuckling quietly at the way they flocked. Watching over the younger Aerials brought out that bit of guardian coding he still had, leftover from his days before the war when he did security for a youngling center. He hadn't interacted much with the younglings there, but the coding was necessary to work in such a place.


	4. A Second Taste

Two decaorns after he returned from his impromptu vacation with Whiplash, Scramble found himself heading to the Ops section of the base to try to find the lithe mech.

Interfacing just hadn't been the same since that vacation. Oh sure, he'd enjoyed his evening teaching the Aerialbots some new tricks. And interfacing with some of the other mechs on base had been good. However, that was _all_ it was. His experience with Whiplash had been far beyond "simply good". It had been extraordinary.

Which is why he was here. He was hoping to catch the Ops TIC just outside of their territory, or at least find someone who would know where he was. He had tried looking for the matte black mech through the security system, but that meant little when most of the Ops section of base didn't have cameras in it.

He wasn't the least bit surprised when he was greeted not far from the main entrance to the Special Operations wing, though he was quite relieved that it was by one of the friendlier mechs.

"Hello Hound, Sikee," he nodded to the scout. "Have you seen Whiplash around."

The reptilian organic on Hound's shoulder churred and nuzzled her mech.

"How are you doing, Scramble?" Hound greeted in kind. "Why are you asking?"

Scramble gave him a smile. "Was wondering if he'd be interested in a repeat of a couple decaorns ago, though not necessarily for as long."

The green mech broke into a wide grin. "I'll ask," he promised, opening a secure comm line. "If you'll follow me, you can wait in his quarters. Jazz'll disarm the major surprises and show you what not to touch until Lasher can join you." He waved the much larger mech to follow him, pausing as the entrance scanned them both, then opened. "Whiplash is around, but he can't join you just yet."

"Sure." The Aerial followed him through the door, looking around in interest in the area he'd never been in before. "Thank you for finding out."

"No problem. He's not the easiest mech to get a hold of. You're lucky really, he's out a lot." Hound chatted idly as they walked down halls that looked just like those in the rest of the base. Up to and including the light traffic of mechs going about their duties.

Really, if he hadn't _known_ just how hard it was to get in here, Scramble would have known he was even in a restricted area, much less one where intruders were considered lucky if they were only shot in the spark.

"I was hoping to use the security cameras to catch up to him in the general area." Scramble gave him a wry smile. "I'm sure you understand how little chance I had of that."

Hound laughed deeply and in good humor. "Even if he tended to use the front door it'd be iffy at best. That mech's nearly as good as Jazz and far more likely to want to avoid the attention."

"Does he have that much more of a need to avoid the attention?" the security mech asked curiously, wanting to know more about the mysterious, entrancing mech.

Hound shrugged. "His primary is assassination, so yeah. I think it's mostly just preference though. Whiplash isn't nearly as social in general."

"How social is he? I mean, how often does he go out to bars and such when he is in?"

 _How random was the encounter in the bar?_ he couldn't bring himself to ask.

Another shrug and Hound turned a corner and waited for a lift. "He's not that social, but he goes out to pick up mechs most decaorns that I know he's in Iacon." He paused and considered the larger mech as the lift door opened. "That night they were just out," he added and stepped into the lift. "But the moment you walked in you became the target."

So it hadn't been as nonrandom as he had feared. He chuckled as he stepped on the lift with Hound. "I certainly didn't mind that."

"Obviously, if you're back for seconds," he sobered as the doors closed and they headed down. "Be careful how often you do. They'll start to think you're serious about him, and that's a jug of squirmers I wouldn't want to open."

"Why's that?" Scramble tilted his head, curious at why Hound would give such a warning.

The green scout sighed. "You know I'm with Mirage, right?"

Scramble nodded. "Yes."

"And you know that Special Operations and SpecOps are not the same?" Hound looked up at him seriously.

"They're not?" His confusion was all the confirmation Hound needed.

"They aren't," Hound confirmed, stepping out of the lift with the timing of one who used it enough to have the timing of the trip in his autopilot. "Special Operations, Jazz's division, is made up of three actual divisions. Special Operations are scouts, communications, data crunchers and a dozen other specialists that have counterparts in the regular army. A lot of mechs think we're regulars and a lot of us act like we are. We're borderline non-coms. We fight when we have to, but it's a tertiary function at most.

"SpecOps are specialists that have to stay out of the limelight. They are out there, in enemy bases, but don't come into direct contact with the enemy unless things go to the pit. Spies, hackers, undercover agents.

"GrayOps are the mechs everyone thinks of when they hear SpecOps. They're the ones that go in deep, contact the enemy out there or in here," he waved towards the rest of the base. "Infiltrators, assassins, interrogators ... and things no Autobot will admit we do, but we do."

Scramble nodded his understanding, following a beat behind the scout.

"When I became serious about Mirage, I had to join his world, security clearances... and everything else that makes a SpecOps," he paused to choose his words carefully. "If they think you're getting too close to Whiplash, they'll drag you into his world. He's GrayOps. Probably the scariest of them. It's not a place I'd go, even for Mirage."

"Why do they do that? For the security risk?"

"Mostly," he nodded. "When an Op gets a serious lover, that mech becomes their archer, the one responsible for keeping them sane with everything they see and do. I may be Prime's best scout, Jazz's best scout, head of my own subdivision, but all that's secondary to keeping Mirage in condition to do his job. You've a lot less important than I am to the functioning of the army."

Scramble mulled it over a few moments, before giving Hound a bit of a grin. "Thanks for the heads-up. This isn't nearly that serious, but..." It was good to know in case he ever found himself interested in another of Jazz's mechs. One never knew what the future held, after all.

"You're welcome," he came to a pause in front of a door that looked like any other.

After a moment it slid open and Jazz stepped out, nodded to Hound, raked Scramble with his optics and glided away down the corridor.

"Come on, I'm to stay until Whiplash gets here," Hound explained as he walked in. "Apparently I'm sparkling-sitting you instead of Jazz."

The Aerial paused at the look Jazz gave him, but then chuckled at Hound's comment. "Doesn't trust me not to get into trouble on my own?" he asked rhetorically.

"Pretty much," Hound gave him a grin and motioned him to take a seat in the entertainment room they first stepped into. "Prime gets grumpy when Autobots get themselves extinguished on base and all that. So, anything I can answer for you?" he offered as he dropped into a large, plush chair.

Scramble took the offered seat, but couldn't help looking around the room, seeing what was and wasn't there, wondering what it meant about the mech whom they belonged to. "So Whiplash isn't social... What else is he like?"

Hound chuckled, relaxed as he watched Scramble take in the high-end entertainment center, the comfortable furniture for mechs of several sizes ... the lack of personal effects, but especially the lack of any organic quarters. The mech had the rank to have one, certainly should have had one before the great die-off.

"He's quiet where Jazz is loud, serious where Jazz is playful, likes the shadows as much as Jazz likes being the life of the party. He's a hard mech to know. Makes our CTO seem relaxed most orns. But then there are the orns you know him from too. It's a little freaky how their kind can change so fast. A switch flips and you can be dealing with a completely different mech."

What he was seeing, and what he was hearing from Hound piqued his interest. Whiplash was a mystery, no doubt, and that just made him interesting, to see how much Scramble could figure out. "How do they change so fast?"

"Don't know," Hound shook his head. "Don't _want_ to know either. Some things a mech's better of being ignorant of no matter how close they are to the mech."

"Yeah, I get that." He grinned at Hound. "So I'm curious. How'd you and Mirage end up together? I'd understand if you don't want to tell, though."

A nearly dreamy looked crossed Hound's features. "I'll _never_ tire of telling that story. I saw him not long after he arrived. He was so lovely, and even though he'd gotten a lot of work done to make him functional in SpecOps he was so clearly still a noble in every way that mattered. I wanted him right then. As much because I know he needed a protector as anything else. I made some mistakes, touching when I shouldn't have, but I came with a socket offering a charge, gifts ... and Jazz's approval. It took vorns, but every bit was worth it."

Scramble smiled. "Sounds like a sparklings' tale."

Hound laughed easily. "It's not. We had our issues, _have_ our issues, mostly from what he was created to be, then recreated to be," he sobered considerably. "You can't be SpecOps or GrayOps and not have pretty mangled coding. A sane mech as most would describe it can't survive the post. They need everything a normal mech does, and a lot more. It's not obvious from where you are right now, but it's vary rare for one of them to find a long-term lover, much less a bonded, from within their own ranks. That's because two mechs who both need to depend on another to keep then centered rarely manage to find that balance. It usually works better with one who's doing the supporting and doesn't need as much. There are a few exceptions, but they're just that, exceptions."

He sobered when Hound did. "How do those without a long-term lover balance themselves?"

"Jazz, mostly," he gave a sigh. "He does that for a lot of regulars too. I don't know how _he_ manages, but it's part of the job."

"And what about those like you? Who have to keep others balanced?"

"It depends on what we need," Hound half shrugged. "I find it in socializing with regulars and long missions away. I find it in his devotion to me too. Prowl ... it's part of his core coding to serve and protect. That and he buries himself in his work. May drive Ratchet crazy, but I've watched and it _helps_ him somehow. Most of us, one way or another, take every opportunity to do what brings peace to our code and spark for when we have to do ... whatever it is that keeps the Op stable, sane and functioning."

"Hey, if you want to talk sometime while he's away, I'm available." Scramble offered. "Even if I don't know most of what goes on on this side of things."

"I'll keep it in mind," he nodded with a smile of thanks. "Do you know much about Tower nobles?"

"Just rumor and common knowledge." The Aerial gave him a wry smile. "They tended to not have much to do with security agents working at youth centers near the worse parts of Tagan Heights."

"True enough," Hound inclined his head. "They are a culture all to themselves, in many ways more different from others more than just the caste things you'd expect. It took me vorns to understand it enough to understand Mirage, and I had plenty of help."

Scramble looked around the room again before asking, "Do you know anything about Whiplash? From before the war?"

"A bit," Hound nodded. "He knew Jazz, though I'm not sure how far back. He's made no secret of that, or that his job description didn't change when he became an Autobot at Jazz's request. The running bet currently has him older than Ironhide, but he could have been a young mech when the war started. Jazz definitely mentored him."

"How close are he and Jazz?" he couldn't help but ask, remembering that hypnotizing dance at the bar.

"He's Jazz's TIC, clade to Jazz in a world where clade is _everything_ ," Hound said seriously. "I've met bonded pairs that aren't as close as those two. I doubt there's anything they wouldn't do for each other. Probably not a lot they haven't done for each other." He leaned back and regarded the jet. "They're occasional lovers, obviously. Jazz is Whiplash's support and balance. I've been around Jazz a lot more than Whiplash and I know he's not possessive of Whiplash, but he is very protective of him."

Scramble nodded, equally serious, then quirked his mouth to give a bit of levity to his next question. "Is that what was up with the look Jazz gave me when he let us in?"

"Probably," Hound chuckled, then looked over his shoulder when the door slid open. "All yours, Whiplash," he grinned and stood to walk out as the lithe matte black mech walked in.

"So, you actually came looking for me," Whiplash cocked his head and leaned forward across the back of the chair Hound had been sitting in.

The Aerial nodded thanks to Hound as he left, then gave Whiplash a bit of a grin as his hungry gaze took the mech in. "You dazzled me so well that I wanted to see if you were willing for another go-around."

"That all?" the minibot grinned, a purely predatory look on him as he stalked forward and slid into Scramble's lap. "I'm always up for more," he purred into a hard, demanding kiss, an act of pure domination. "You enjoy watching?"

Scramble kissed him back eagerly, readily submitting with a moan. "Watching's good, especially when you're involved."

A low chuckle rumbled up from Whiplash's chassis as he worked his hands around Scramble's shoulders to tease his wings. "Oh, I will be. You'll have such a lovely view, all tied up on my berth while I play with my sisters."

Scramble moaned again, arching into his touch. "Mmm, a family affair, huh? That's bound to be sexy."

"You did enjoy watching me with Jazz," Whiplash grinned and pulled away despite Scramble's instinctive effort to stop him. "And with them, you can even watch spark play," he added as he slipped gracefully backwards to his pedes. "Come," he took a step backwards, his hand extended for his lover.

Said lover quickly got to his feet, stalking towards the mech, hand out to take Whiplash's, and was led into a dark berthroom. Even with the lights up, Whiplash all but melted into the room like ink in black oil. He only had a moment to take in the simple space -- extra large berth, small desk, and a couple storage lockers. A strange piece of geometric and tubing artwork was the only decoration, but it wound around all four walls, the ceiling and even crept out onto the floor and furniture in places. It was almost organic in its flow, but Cybertronian in components.

"Mmm, nice," he said, tugging on the hand he held and leaning in for another searing kiss as he was gently pulled forward towards the berth. Scramble barely had enough time to be startled when he found himself on his back on the berth, his arms over his head and bound, his pedes spread and bound.

" _This_ is nice," Whiplash purred from between the Aerial's spread legs. His fingers traced circular patterns on the relatively thin, sensor-rich cover of Scramble's interface panels.

Scramble groaned and arched into the touch. "I take it you like me bound and at your mercy?" Not that he's complaining...

A playful, hungry grin looked up at him as sharp claws became a little more insistent. "Just as much as I like it when you cover me so completely with your spike in deep."

"Mmm," he shuddered, cover snapping back. "That is entirely too addictive. As is this." Scramble arched, pulling at the restraints to emphasize his meaning.

"Good," Whiplash purred, pressing two fingers into his lover as soon as the valve was exposed, curling his fingers to scrape against the larger nodes inside. "You're delicious in the berth."

Scramble moaned at that, hips pressing up into his touch. "Please!" he begged, not even completely sure what he was begging for other than for Whiplash to do _more_.

A low, soft chuckle greeted the single word before Whiplash lowered his helm and took the large, simple spike, so different from his own highly modified and decorative one, into his mouth all the way to the base.

The Aerial let out a cry, his hips jerking up into the heat, tight intake and oh-so-skilled glossa. "So good, so good..."

Whiplash purred around the spike and began to thrust his fingers hard and fast as he revved his high-performance racing engine hard and held it at the pitch to send an endless stream of intense vibration through Scramble's frame.

Scramble keened wordlessly as he raced towards overload, pulled and pushed along by an exotic mech who knew exactly how to touch him to draw out every nascence of pleasure from his frame.

::Talk to me, hot stuff.:: Whiplash commanded across an ultra short range comm. ::Tell me what it feels like. Tell me what drives you wild. Tell me a fantasy.::

Scramble could only manage words and broken up sentences. "Oh! Flying! Going high... Touching to... wind song... You riding... spike... While city... blinks below..."

It was more than enough to draw a full-chassis shudder from Whiplash. The small mech moaned deeply, squeezing his intake around the spike deep in it. ::Oh, _yes_. So intense. Relying on you for my spark. If your engines stall, if you white out, all I can do it fall. If I do I won't even know what happens.::

The Aerial moaned louder, right on the brink. "Not all... fall bad... Freefall... catch right... before hit... exhilarating..."

Whiplash could only whine as he sucked harder, thrust and curled his fingers that much faster. The charge crackling along Scramble's chassis, up his spike and around the fingers in his valve pushing Whiplash close to a light overload, one he pushed back to enjoy fully later.

Scramble cried out his lover's name as he overloaded, valve clamping down on those fingers and fluid spurting into that talented mouth and down the intake squeezing every bit of transfluid, energy and pleasure out of his lover as Whiplash milked him down from the intense high.

When Scramble was finally only panting lightly, Whiplash withdrew his fingers and let the spike slide from his mouth with a pleased purr.

"Think you have another in you?" he purred as he slithered up the broad flier's frame.

"Oooh yes." He watched the lithe mech hungrily. "What do you have in mind?"

Sharp claws that had ended countless mech's functioning played lightly over Scramble's cockpit, bringing nothing but pleasure and the promise of more. "Spike me so hard I can't walk right," he purred, nuzzling a little further up until he claimed a heated kiss. "Make the girls wonder where I am when they get here you cover me so completely."

Scramble growled into the kiss, devouring him. ::I'll make you forgot my name, even your name. I'll pound you so hard you'll only know the berth and my spike stretching you, filling you completely.::

The shudder that passed down Whiplash's frame came in conjunction with all four bindings unlocking. ::Do it,:: he hissed across the comm, his claws digging in with his anticipation and _desire_. ::Spread me so wide you think I'll break from it. Pound me so hard you feel my plating buckle.::

The combat Aerial groaned in desire and flipped them. He bit on Whiplash's lip as he pulled from the kiss and roughly shoved Whiplash's knees further apart before slamming into him, spike large enough to bring a trace of pain in from being stretched so far. He pulled back out agonizingly slowly before slamming into the smaller mech again, covering him as he did so. He didn't keep it slow for long, quickly moving into a hard, demanding pace, slamming in repeatedly with much more force than he had used before. 

"Mine!" he growled.

"Yes!" Whiplash screamed and arched, his wrists caught in one large hand and pinned over his helm, his legs pushed nearly flat by the large mech's hips as he was pounded into the berth. All he could see was Scramble's chassis. All her could feel was Scramble's weight on him and in him. He closed his optics and surrendered fully to the tactile.

"Take it, feel how full your valve is," Scramble growled in Whiplash's audio. He continued to pound into the matte black mech with a violence and strength that was unusual for him. But oh, it felt so good to take pleasure in such a _tight_ , hot, slick valve, knowing that he was giving pleasure in equal measure. The way his lover moaned, keened and did his best to rub and arch against him was as intoxicating. That he was in no way about to pin or control this particular mech unless Whiplash desired it made it that much sweeter, taking any hint that it might be by force out of his processors.

"Oh, Primus," he whimpered, licking and kissing whatever bit of chassis was directly above him. His valve rippled and squeezed, trying to suck the spike in deeper. A tiny twist of his hips and the lithe mech screamed and locked up. Pleasure coursed threw him at the surprised overload. Energy crackled along his chassis, crashed into Scramble's EM field and spike.

The larger mech howled as the energy spilled into him, sending him into overload as well as he continued to slam into the smaller mech, trying to draw out every ounce of pleasure.

Eventually he slumped over Whiplash, spike still buried to the hilt in that wonderful valve, armor and wings completely covering the mech under him. Even dazed, the sensation of a happily sated, relaxed Whiplash under him was enjoyable.

When he felt slender fingers on his aft, he thought it was his lover, only to realize that he was still holding both wrists down.

"You do put on quite a show," a deep, amused femme's voice spoke above him.

Scramble's helm rose sharply to see who was there, but smiled at the noticeably smaller femme. "Thank you. You one of the sisters Whiplash mentioned?"

She smirked and slid a finger between his legs to tease his valve, still slick and dripping from before. "Starjumper," she introduced herself, briefly flaring wings that were so well integrated into her frame that she didn't look like a flier. "She's Silver Shadow," she nodded towards the lightly burnished silver femme closer to Whiplash's size. They shared a build in common with him, and their leader. A frametype that seemed common in Ops.

He hummed in pleasure at the touch to his valve, noting the similarities, but dismissing them to a low-priority queue for the moment. "Scramble. Pleasure to meet you both."

"Now ... Lash suggested we dance for you, but I'm thinking I'd like to take the edge off first," she purred and knelt on the berth. "Sate myself in your valve while your mouth see's to Silver's needs."

Scramble shivered. "That sounds very good."

The two femmes grinned at each other. Starjumper settled between Scramble's legs, one hand teasing his valve while the other played slender fingers along the spike still buried deep in Whiplash's valve.

Then Silver Shadow was in front of him, her spike out and already pressurizing as she stroked it. He moaned at Starjumper's touch, optics locked hungrily on Silver Shadow's spike as she leaned forward, rolling her hips so he could take her in if he wanted, or simply lick at the elegantly detailed spike of interlaced bright silver scales with amethysts dotting it where the major sensor nodes were.

Scramble traced the designs on her spike with his glossa, giving extra attention to each amethyst, and to the corresponding nodes. The spike in his valve felt similarly decorative and complex. Both femmes slid into a rocking thrust that was perfectly coordinated.

Under him, Whiplash began to squirm and moan, his valve reacting to the thrusting driven by the femme above them.

Scramble groaned, rocking his hips between Starjumper and Whiplash while he continued to worship Silver Shadow's spike. Strong, sure fingers rubbed against the small sensor fins and swept planes of his helm, driving Scramble's arousal and pleasure higher as signals came from nearly his entire frame.

Then Starjumper's hands found his ailerons and he howled around the spike in his mouth, causing Silver Shadow to shudder in appreciation. He arched up into her hands, beginning to lick and suck on the other's spike all the more fervently. He'd never thought being in between three minibots could feel this _good_ ... never thought interfacing in general could feel this amazing.

A traitorous thought crossed his mind that this was even better than flying.

Starjumper didn't take long to begin to thrust harder, slamming her hips into his as the same moment Whiplash bucked his hips upward.

Scramble let go of Whiplash's wrists to bring his hands up to Silver Shadow's hips, holding her close as he growled in pleasure. He began to tremble as he approached yet another overload, this one hitting from all sides at once.

Under him Whiplash moaned deliriously, his valve squeezing and milking the spike sliding in and out if it. With his hands free he reached up and dug his fingers into every opening between flared plates, tweaking wires and stroking hidden protoform until Starjumper overloaded with a roar. Only a fraction of a nanoklik later Silver Shadow lost it and pumped spurt after spurt of transfluid into the Aerial's mouth. His overload was quick to follow, grinding down into Whiplash's valve as his valve milked Starjumper's spike.

Only a couple more erratic thrusts and the rush of hot fluid into his valve and Whiplash keened his pleasure to them all.

"That was fun," Starjumper rumbled pleasantly against Scramble's back as she pulled out.

"Very," Silver Shadow agreed as she withdrew with a soft moan.

"Now, if our illustrious leader can move," Starjumper teasingly reached down to play light fingers along the spike and valve still connected below her. "We'll give you a dance to wind you up again."

Scramble chuckled. "I can't wait to see." He arched his back to be able to kiss the dark minibot under him, making it slow and deep. "What do you say?"

"I think I'd rather watch the girls dance while I stay on the berth and tease you," he purred deeply.

The Aerial kissed him before grinning at the other two and saying teasingly, "You heard him."

Both femmes laughed and got off the berth, leaning against each other and enjoying the view as they waited for Whiplash to arrange and secure the much larger mech to suit his desires. With Scramble sitting on his pedes, hands secured to the ceiling and knees spread wide they smiled and kissed each other passionately.

Scramble hummed as he watched the two femmes kiss, comfortable with the pose Whiplash had placed him in. Every so often though, his gaze would dart to the matte black mech who was watching the femmes raptly, but has his fingers slowly exploring every bit of the wide upswept wings. Their EM fields were still tightly entwined, feeding the arousal and pleasure between them.

"Does watching a spark merge make you hot, or does penetrative get you revved up more?" Whiplash whispered in his audio as the femmes began to sway to quiet background music and caress each other's frame.

"Either, both," he groaned as he arched into those exquisite touches. His hungry gaze watched as sensuous caresses bled into the erotic movements of a dance, made all the better by the way they moved in absolute time with each other.

"Now, now, you have to choose," Whiplash laughed playfully before digging his fingers into the complex primary wing joints where the flight surfaces met chassis.

Scramble cried out, trembling as the inner struts and wires of the joint were stroked. "Oh... oh... Spark, then."

"Watch them, pretty," Whiplash purred seductively in his audio, still working the wing joints. "Watch as they show you what we know of spark play. What I can do for you when you agree."

At the words, Silver Shadow began unlocking her chest plates, the metal folding out and back, bringing her spark chamber and pulsing pale blue spark into view.

He moaned, ports spiraling open in a silent invitation to the matte black mech. He watched with rapt attention as the other Aerial began to touch and tease at the spark chamber, and suddenly Whiplash was there, inside his processors more smoothly than any mech had a right to manage. The outside world faded slightly, becoming secondary to what was going on between their processors.

~Take me flying,~ Whiplash purred.

Scramble opened up his memory files, pulling out his most memorable flights, those that still made his wings tingle to think about.

Passion flooded him from Whiplash, a glory and reveling that no non-flier could possibly have before the first dive was even at full speed. A flicker of surprise, then memories, need, pain, loss and suddenly Scramble was screaming in the grip of agony and panic he'd never known but could name even in this state: sky-loss.

He barely noticed Whiplash pull out of the connection before everything went black.

* * *

"How do you feel?" A low, gentle voice asked as Scramble struggled to boot up fully.

"Like my processors are slag," he managed to groan, trying to focus non-working optics on the speaker.

"No need to bolt or tear your spark out?"

Optics finally booted up, focusing in on the white and red form above him. "Nooo..." He was about to ask what happened when memories flooded his processors. Amazing interfacing, pleasure with Whiplash as they watched the sisters dance, sharing memories of flying ... then the panicked pain of sky-loss. With a gasp he bolted into a sitting position, looking around frantically. "Where's Whiplash? How is he?"

"Calm down or I'll sedate you," the medic said firmly, even though his voice was still gentle. "He left with the other two that brought you in. He seemed fine. Why?"

He gave himself a shake. If First Aid didn't know, then Whiplash likely wanted it to be kept a secret. "He was tangled up with me," he gave a half-truth.

The medic nodded. "I'll pass that one to Dreamwatch, the SpecOps medic, but he did not show any signs of suffering issues. How did you acquire a memory file for sky-loss? Nothing in your medical records indicates you've ever been grounded or captured that long."

"I'd...rather not say. Privacy issues." Scramble hoped that would be enough to deter the other mech. He wasn't about to go spreading others' secrets.

First Aid looked displeased, though between battle mask and visor it was hard to tell his expression, but nodded. "For now, I will accept that. His medic will ensure none of the code took up residence where it doesn't belong."

The Aerial nodded back. "Am I free to go?"

"Yes, however I want you back here if you have _any_ symptoms of sky-loss," he said sternly. "That is not a condition to be treated lightly."

"Yes, sir. Definitely don't want any of that lingering." Scramble replied, standing up to go and promptly escaped before anyone could change their mind and keep him in the place of pain and deactivation.


	5. To Pursue or not to Pursue

Scramble was unusually quiet and pensive as he entered the rec room for his morning energon. He had spent the previous evening with a mech well-known in the crew for being very skilled in the berth, his third such encounter since the eventful 'facing session with Whiplash nearly four decaorn ago. By all rights, he should have still been high on the bliss of several intense overloads. Any normal mech would have been. The fact that he wasn't made him wonder what it was that he felt like he was missing.

After gathering his normal ration, he sat down at a table already occupied by a mech he knew well. "Morning Inferno," he greeted, managing to drag up a smile for the large grounder, one of the few one the base that looked him in the optics when they both stood.

"Mornin' Scramble," the powerful fire truck smiled at him. "Wan' a friendly audio?"

"Yeah, that would be good," Scramble replied. "Have you ever had a 'facing session that just seemed a bit...off? Like there was something missing?"

"Few times," he nodded. "Mostly when I was tryin' to work out if Red was the mech for me or not. Though given who you've been hanging out with lately, it might just be you're feelin' just how willing they are to fry you."

Scramble pondered that for several moments, checking times and responses in his memories. "Possibly, but I'm not so sure... Last time I didn't feel anything off was also with one of them, and I'd had encounters with some of the other Aerials on this side that seemed off recently too. It doesn't add up."

"Ever heard of spark resonance or Seeker resonance?" Inferno asked, his voice gentle.

"Sparkling tales." Scramble shrugged. "Haven't heard about it actually happening to real mechs."

"Now you have," Inferno said simply. "Me an' Red. Jazz and Prowl too, I bet. Most of the couples where you go 'wha?' about will be."

"And you think maybe I've found someone whom my spark resonates with?" He chewed the thought over before sighing. "How does it even work in real life? There's no happy-until-all-are-ones."

"In real life, it's just first the first step. It just means your spark _likes_ the other spark, feels right with it," Inferno nodded. "It doesn't make the work of a good relationship any less or any easier. It doesn't mean you won't fight, or even that you'll want to bond. From what I've seen, it _does_ mean it's worth fightin' for to have the chance. Spark resonance doesn't bring easy mechs, easy couples, together. It brings fire and energon together. But if you make it, our entire race is better for it."

Scramble nodded, staring at his energon. Finally he gave a sigh and took a large gulp. "It's a huge mess if you're right, Inferno."

Inferno considered the Aerial for a while. "You might want ta talk ta Prowl. He's bonded with a ranking Ops mech after all. He knows what it's like. Hound is a good one too. But mostly you _need_ to talk to Jazz if you're going to try and court Whiplash. That mech is hyper-protective of his mechs, and he's not the only one in the division who will be looking out for Whiplash."

"Red too, if I even want to go down that path. Hound already warned me that I would likely get transferred if I got serious about Whiplash. Would want to give him at least a warning if that ends up a possibility."

"Oh yeah. Your wing commander and ... who _is_ in charge of the air force these orns? For real, I mean, not the one Prime thinks is in charge."

"Dogfight for the Seekers on our side, Springer for the rest of us. I'm not as worried about that side of it as for how Red will react, though." Scramble took another pull from his energon.

"Still good to let them know that you might be getting adopted into Ops," Inferno countered. "It's just polite. It _changes_ things, even if not for you. Ops mechs really do protect their own, and if you're with their TIC, they are _definitely_ going to look out for you."

"True." The Aerial finished the last of his cube. "The question is... am I willing to go there? And right now...I just don't know." He could lose everything he knew and was familiar with, and didn't even know the full possibilities of what he could gain.

"It's not an easy leap of faith to make, especially with them," Inferno nodded sympathetically. "From what I know of him, Whiplash isn't the easiest mech to get along with, unlike his boss. I can't tell you what's right for you," he added seriously. "I can tell you that it's been worth all the stress, spark-ache and grief I have with Red for the good times. I know Prowl feels the same, and so does Jazz, though both require high grade to get it said out loud. But we're also the couples who've made it, found the balance. I'm not sure how many don't make it."

"Thank you, Inferno." Scramble gave him a small, but genuine smile. "It's always good to hear from someone that's found someone worth it."

"You're welcome," he smiled and squeezed Scramble's shoulder. "Good luck joining our little group. I'd be nice to have another couple around."

* * *

Scramble spent several orns thinking over what Inferno had told him. Spark resonance... _fit_ with what he had been experiencing. The sudden attraction to Whiplash, being unable to get the lithe mech off of his thoughts. How no other berth partner seemed to compare to him, even if they were more skilled than him.

To be honest, the idea of having spark resonance with someone had an appeal to him. A touch of sparklings' dreams filtering into reality. The more he thought about it, the more he wanted to know about what he would face if he chose to go down that path. He wasn't committing to a relationship yet. He was just exploring the options. Options that could, _maybe_ , include a very important life change.

So he spoke to Red Alert, then Springer and Airfoil. The two Aerials had thanked him for the heads-up and wished him luck in figuring himself out. Red hadn't taken it nearly so well, but that was hardly a surprise. Despite the snarling and grumbling, Scramble knew his CO well enough to recognize tacit permission when he got it.

Now here he was, on his way to a meeting with Prowl. While the Autobot TIC wasn't a mech most would go to for advice on their love life, he was a very good resource for dealing with love lives that included Ops mechs that saw the worst of it. Plus, the tactician wasn't nearly as intimidating as his mate. Scramble wanted to work his way up to the Head of Ops.

He had been relieved and uneasy when the busy mech had made time to speak with him within an orn of asking. Scramble had little doubt that Jazz had some hand in it, even if not directly.

Right on time, he pressed the buzzer for Prowl's office. His twitching wings were the only outward sign of his nervousness, but it was quite enough for the mech who commanded the door open a moment later.

"Punctual, good," Prowl considered the large mech in his doorway. "Sit," he motioned to one of the chairs designs for flyer comfort. "What is on your processors?"

"Thank you for seeing me, Prowl." Scramble settled into the chair, and took a few moments to gather his thoughts together. "Sir, I'd like to know a bit more about... what it's like, being with an Ops mech." There, he'd said it.

"Whiplash," the tactician stated. "Jazz has been snarling about this for decaorns. He's _very_ unhappy about your continued interest, and downright furious about ... whatever happened the last time you were in Whiplash's berth."

"Honestly, I didn't expect to remain interested in him either. But I can't deny that the attraction I feel towards him is growing instead of fading." Scramble shrugged. "As to what happened ... I didn't do it intentionally. He asked me to share some memories and they ended up triggering something better left alone." He didn't know how much Prowl was aware of, or how much Whiplash would or wouldn't want shared, but he also needed to defend himself. "I don't want to be on Jazz's bad side."

"You have disrupted a finely tuned and delicately balanced world," Prowl actually gave the Aerial a tiny smile that was readily returned. "He'll get over it. As for your original question. It is difficult. They are as different from the average elite Autobot as Seekers are from minibot frontliners. The assassins, Jazz and Whiplash among them, are extreme even for their kind. No matter how much you may trust each other in time there will be significant portions of his functioning that Whiplash will never share with you to protect you. Even when we merge, there are parts of Jazz I carefully avoid looking at, both because he has asked me to and because I am fully cognizant that there are aspects to his existence and his past that I do not wish to know about. You will face the same with Whiplash. There are parts of him that will destroy you if you look too closely."

Scramble nodded his understanding. "How much of what they do on missions do you end up seeing?"

"As TIC, most of it," Prowl chuckled. "As an Op's bonded, more than I'm comfortable with. You would likely see more than I do, simply because Jazz has far more experience in hiding memories than Whiplash. I can guarantee you that first deep, open merge will show you more of the Autobot's dark secrets than even I'm authorized to know."

Scramble's wings twitched again and he shifted in his seat. "How do you deal with the knowledge? What balances out the realities of what they do?"

"I deal with it by accepting the realities of war and the nature of the spark I bonded to. Jazz was this long before the war and he will be this long after it is over," Prowl said simply. "There is good reason few mechs make it into Special Operation's higher echelons. It has nothing to do with skill. It has everything to do with the spark and core coding of the mech. Anyone can be trained. Few have the Allspark given ability to do the work more than once. You will find that you can accept what he is, what he does, or you cannot. I can only recommend you find out well before you bond."

"If you don't mind me getting too personal sir... How did you know that Jazz was worth it?" Scramble was pensive, trying to process everything, and how it applied to him.

Prowl went still. He'd been expecting the question, and even more invasive ones, but it did nothing to cool the reflexive panic at exposing himself that much. A brush against his spark and he relaxed.

"Our situation was a bit different. He pursued me and he was not an Autobot at the time," Prowl began. "My spark knew it. It ached to be away from him, even before we admitted we tolerated each other, much less more. When it became clear he was affected much the same, we began to come to an understanding. It took several vorns for us to accept the resonance. Much longer to truly love each other. For Jazz and myself, because of politics, we bonded before we loved."

Scramble noticed the other mech's momentary discomfort, and gave him a grateful smile. "Thank you."

After a couple moments' thought, he then asked. "What's it like balancing someone who has to do what they do?"

"It is difficult," Prowl admitted. "Both _enjoy_ what they do. Killing, torture, breaking and reprogramming mechs. That is a blessing in that they do not need to be comforted for it. It is a curse in that when it does come up one is faced with the undeniable fact that they enjoy such things. You will not be alone is learning to adapt or in coping with their issues. There are a few of us, lovers and bondeds of such mechs, that help each other out."

Scramble nodded and looked at his hands. "How often does it come up?"

"With Jazz, every 2.83962 vorns, on average," Prowl answered, having expected the question. "I can not say with Whiplash. It has predominantly been shortly after they enjoyed a mission so much they are still revved up from it when they get back. It can be very disturbing."

"Do you know the range of ways various mechs handle that?" Scramble gave him a bit of a smile, inviting him to not be as personal with the answer if he felt uncomfortable with it.

"Some forget, some embrace it, revel in what they can not be, some accept and move on," Prowl considered the Aerial steadily. "Some forget that they are not what their lovers are and get themselves extinguished in their efforts. The mechs we love are very strong ones. Strong willed and strongly programmed."

"Is there anything else you feel I should be warned about?" Scramble matched Prowl's serious expression. "I'm still at the point of figuring out if pursuing him is the right decision for me. I know what my spark wants me to do, but this is not something to jump into quickly and without thought. Not with one of them."

"No, not with one of them especially," he nodded. "I recommend you find a way to get past your unease with Jazz. GrayOps and SpecOps are his creations, regardless of where they came from. To be with one of them is to accept his place in their functioning, and your own. If you make Whiplash happy, he will protect you as one of his own. It would serve you well to make friends with him."

Scramble nodded. "That is something I need to work on. Thank you, for everything."

"You are welcome," Prowl inclined his head slightly, his chassis language beginning to settle into the stiff, minimal-reaction tactician that the crew was more accustomed too in the ranking officer. "If there is nothing else?"

"That's all I can think of at the moment. Thank you again." Scramble stood and gave Prowl a polite nod before quietly leaving. Prowl had given him a lot to think about.


	6. Choosing Your Path

Scramble had given Prowl's answers and advice careful thought. However, he needed to do more than think to come to a decision.

Which is how he had ended up in Whiplash's quarters, with Whiplash sprawled across Scramble's cockpit, playing the tips of his claws on the glossy surface as they recovered from an intense series of overloads using every trick Whiplash knew that didn't involve opening their chest plates. Despite the pleasure still zinging around his systems, the small mech was thoughtful and just a bit pensive.

The Aerial rumbled quietly and slid his hand up his lover's back. "What are you thinking?"

"That we need to move forward or end it before Jazz makes the choice for us," Whiplash said quietly. "It's beginning to affect my work."

Scramble let his claw tips rub idle circles on the matte black armor as he thought on that for a moment, then quietly unlocked his chest plates. "Spark merge?" he offered quietly.

"You know the risks, if it's really this resonance business?" Whiplash looked up, his features troubled.

Scramble's expression was calm, accepting. "Yes, I'm aware of the risks. Do you agree that they're worth it?"

The lithe mech squirmed. "I'm not the one risking much," he pointed out. "We end up bonded by accident and you could find yourself on the short list for my boss' reprogramming services this metacycle. It's _not_ a pleasant processes, even if he was out to make you useful."

" _If_ it were to happen, then it would mean my decision would be made," the larger mech replied sensibly. "Yes, it's a risk. But we also can't stay in limbo like this. I need to be sure of what I can handle, and a merge is the quickest and best way for me to find out."

Whiplash looked him in the optics, thoughtful, and nodded. Without another sound he shifted to straddle his lover and began to part his chestplates, exposing the first ripple of deep burgundy, a spark that created shadows more than chased them away.

"Make or break time," the lithe mech murmured with a quickly deepening accent, his case sliding forward and beginning to spiral open. "If you're here ta extinguish meh, now's th' time ta do it."

Scramble's chest plates parted beneath him, light spilling out from the pale yellow spark that was revealed as his chamber spiraled open. "I'll do no such thing," he managed to murmur in reply before pulling his lover in closer. 

There wasn't a flicker of resistance in Whiplash. He allowed his frame to slide forward, allowed his lover to determine the speed of the merge. He couldn't find it in himself to look forward to this, to opening himself up enough to be sure of what was happening. It went against everything in his coding, everything in his training, and nearly everything in his too-dark spark.

Did he have enough self-control to merge that deeply and _not_ consume that lovely, tempting sphere of energy below his? He knew it was possible. His carrier had done so millions of times. Whether _he_ had that strength on this first attempt was less certain.

A core-deep tremble passed through Whiplash's chassis as hunger swelled up, a reflexive response to an exposed spark that was not close kin.

Could he really do this?

Scramble noticed the darkness in the other spark, but found he was not afraid of it. It was part of Whiplash, and he wanted all of him, good and bad. His spark wanted to merge with this other that felt so right, to accept him and cherish him.

Their sparks touched and they both trembled.

Knowledge flared between them, searing in its intensity. Passed on from Jazz and Prowl to Whiplash, giving name and reason for what they felt, context of what it could become, what it could cost, no matter which path they chose.

Whiplash's hands came forward, closing around Scramble's shoulders and holding on tight. Obeying Jazz's orders, he dropped firewalls and memory seals, offering himself up.

Either the darkness would accept his lover as kin, or it would accept it as a meal.

Either way, there would be no turning back.

Scramble arched up into the other mech with a gasp, his own self automatically opening up fully in response. Whiplash's long memory assaulted him, pouring through him. He accepted it all, reveling in the other mech's remembered pleasure, even when said pleasure came from sources that would have normally repulsed him. He clung to the mech above him as claws bit into his armor.

It was Scramble's acceptance the finally allowed Whiplash to relax, at least a little. But that meant the merge deepened quickly, sinking to their cores where it was no longer pleasure but loosing one's sense of self.

There was Scramble. There was Whiplash. There was the Darkness.

The Darkness coaxed them together, swirled around them, deciding whether to devour.

It wasn't _hungry_ , but it was always hungry.

Was the foreign spark worth consuming?

No.

Not this time.

Not this one.

* * *

After the revelations of the merge with Whiplash, it was rather easy for Scramble to decide which path he wanted to take. He submitted a request to Jazz for a meeting as soon as he had cycled back up. When he told Whiplash of his intentions to speak with the SIC, the lithe mech wanted to come along. Instead Whiplash received an order to report to Jazz _immediately_.

So a joor after sending the request and bidding goodbye to his lover, Scramble was standing in front of the door to Jazz's office. He cycled his vents to try to calm his sudden nerves and pressed the chime.

A word he vaguely placed as the order to 'come' from linguistic memories of Whiplash's early functioning snapped at him and the door slid open. The sleek silver minibot was seated at his desk, his EM field flickering in tightly controlled outrage. Across from him Whiplash looked worn out but undamaged, yet he refused to look up.

"Sit," Jazz snapped, jamming his finger towards a chair intended for Scramble's build.

"Sir." Scramble sat where Jazz indicated. The silver minibot was terrifying when this angry, but Scramble made himself face him calmly. Prowl was right; he needed to be able to deal with this mech without fear if he wanted to be with Whiplash. He was determined to see this through.

The door closed, the lock, then command-level security lock, clicking into place audibly.

"I understand Whiplash gave you a full, no-firewall merge earlier," Jazz spoke, nothing of the friendly, playful mech most outside of Ops knew him as.

"Yes." Scramble did not regret it. Could not regret it, no matter how obviously displeased Jazz was with it.

"Then you are fully aware of who, _what_ , I am judging you as," Jazz glared up at the much larger mech.

"As his creator, yes." Scramble replied. "And as his creator I want to ask you for your approval to court him," he added in a firm tone that indicated that he would do so anyways, even if Jazz didn't approve.

A corner of Jazz's mouth tipped upwards as he rested his chin on both thumbs and tapped the tips of his center fingers in front of his olfactory sensor.

Whiplash fidgeted, if minimally.

"Knowing his needs, can you provide for him?" Jazz asked instead of answering.

Scramble took a moment to answer, but when he did his voice did not waiver. "It would be difficult, I will not lie. I do not know if I could go every time, but if it were necessary, if he needed and could not hunt himself for whatever reason, I believe I could." He was an Autobot, yes, but he was also a _Combat_ Aerial, with the coding necessary to do what needed to be done. Even when that meant capturing another mech, knowing they'd be executed just so his lover would live.

Whiplash muttered darkly under his ventilations, causing his creator to snicker and lean back.

"To bond to one of us is to bond to _our_ creator, to the Unmaker himself," Jazz pointed out evenly, his manner serious but no longer threatening. "You'll never know Primus again, never go to the Well. When our kind end, we cease, disperse into component energy. You'll become one of us, even without the long functioning or hunger."

As Jazz relaxed from the threatening posture, Scramble released the tension in his frame. "Better to truly live in this lifetime and face that than to return to Primus with regrets for not taking a chance at happiness."

"To bond also means I can't consume you," Whiplash added quietly. "To survive that night means the Unmaker accepts you as a servant of one of his chosen."

"It means many things," Jazz nodded. "Most of all, merely _attempting_ to court my creation will mean the end of everything you have known, everything you are. What your own code and desires does not edit to the necessarily level, I will. Your sparks chose each other. I will not accept anything less than a perfect code match for my only surviving creation."

"I had been warned that everything would change if I chose this before I even had considered the possibility. I may not have known the extent of what I would face before we merged, but I wasn't walking in completely blind either. To me, it's worth it. _He's_ worth it." Scramble's hand reached out to take Whiplash's and give it a squeeze. He could felt the unease still in Whiplash's field. It was enough to make him wonder just what had his lover so unsettled when he didn't seem to be risking much. He made a mental note to ask the smaller mech about it later, when they were alone.

"Then I will deal with Red Alert," Jazz said, all business. "Your transfer should be settled within the decaorn. Do I need to explain what will happen if anything you leaned here or from Whiplash gets out?"

"I'm sure my fate would be far worse than anything I could imagine," Scramble replied with a slight smile.

Jazz gave a grunt and almost smile before shaking his head. "Then scat. I have work to do."

Scramble quickly stood, then leaned in to give Whiplash a kiss before gently tugging on his hand. "You heard him." He gave his lover a smile, and Jazz a salute before pulling the matte black mech out of his carrier's office. He could _feel_ Jazz scowl at them even after the door closed.

"You know that's not the end of it," Whiplash said quietly as he took charge, tugging Scramble towards his quarters.

"Have to start somewhere," Scramble replied as he followed his lover, both falling silent until they reached the lithe mech's quarters. Scramble abruptly found himself sitting on the berth with Whiplash on his lap, claiming a hard, demanding kiss that was readily returned.

" _Why_?" Whiplash growled, locking optics with the Aerial. "You're willing to give up the _Well_ for me?"

Scramble met his gaze evenly. "The Well wouldn't offer peace if I went there with regrets. I'd rather enjoy this life fully and have that be it than go to the Well with regrets. I know resonance offers no guarantees, but I believe we have a good chance and I'm willing to put in the effort to _make_ it work."

Whiplash muttered a series of curses in languages long forgotten, then abruptly laughed; a creepy, humorless sound in reaction to absurdity.

"You're too old not to grasp what you're saying," Whiplash shook his head, still chuckling even as his spark tried to both swell at being worthy of such a reaction and pull into a tiny ball as it sank in he might have to protect Scramble from himself. "Or too disillusioned with Primus and his promises."

"I mean it. And you can't say I don't know what I'm getting into. Not after that merge." Scramble let his hands glide along the lithe mech's sides and gave him a soft, chaste kiss. "I'm not letting you go, no matter what."

"You're insane," Whiplash sighed, the touch feeling too good to reject. "Yes, you know what you're getting into in _this_ existence," he murmured. "Whether you grasp what it will cost in the long run, after this existence, I'm not so sure."

"There's never any guarantees except for the here and now. My fate for what happens after this life could have already been sealed, and I have no way of knowing. I'm not passing up an opportunity now for a less certain fate sometime far in the future." Scramble continued rubbing his lover's sides, enjoying the way the deadly mech all but melted at the simple contact.

Though the memories he had gained from the merge were disjointed and most little more than impressions now, Scramble did remember one thing very distinctly: just how often Whiplash had taken a lover that meant anything to him. Even though this was the resonance pulling on him, it was enough.

Whiplash _cared_.

Scramble felt it when all such debates were shoved into the background of Whiplash's processors. The lithe mech went from tense to relaxed in the distance of a single spark pulse. Gentle pressure urged the Aerial to lay back. He obliged, cradling his small lover close to his spark as they settled into recharge together.


	7. Endgame

Scramble landed lightly, allowing Whiplash to slide from his arms when the lithe mech shifted. As much as he wanted to give his lover his full attention, their location grabbed his focus. It seemed a wild cliff face, but deep inside it was a palace filled with luxuries he couldn't imagine. Soft fabrics, artwork from long-gone masters in dozens of styles and every medium from metal to stone to paint to holograms.

He stared, admiring everything. "This place is amazing ... I'm not surprised Jazz keeps it secret."

"Just because he called on us to join the Autobots with him didn't mean we gave up anything that was _ours_ ," Whiplash said, his tone a mixture of exasperation, complete loyalty and smug pride. "But his clade, it's ours and neither side is keen on finding out the price of digging too deeply or destroying what little we hold dear."

"I can understand that." Scramble's hand slid along his lover's shoulder. "Show me inside?"

Whiplash just chuckled before guiding him across the entry room. "Keep up that touch and I'll show you my berth before we get anywhere."

"Would that be a bad or good thing?" the Aerial teased.

"Depends on if you want a tour or an overload," Whiplash laughed easily, leaning into the touch even as a part of him, buried in profile coding, wanted to retch. "I'm game either way."

"No overloading while on the tour?" Scramble joked and leaned in to give Whiplash a quick kiss on the mouth. "Better do a tour first. Probably won't get a chance for one afterwards."

"Probably not," the lithe minibot agreed, easily guiding his lover around the enclosed estate, a palace carved into a cliff. He pointed out his favorite places, the artwork he favored, what his carrier favored, what long-deactivated siblings or cousins favored.

Scramble followed closely. He was most interested in Whiplash's favorites, though he kept note of everything the smaller mech told him. Now and then he would ask for more information on pieces that struck him, but was mostly content with what was shared.

Despite all the fascinating things to see and learn, neither mech was disappointed to reach Whiplash's private suite, lush and appointed with many objects that spoke to the ancient killer. What struck Scramble the most was a striking similarity to Whiplash's quarters in Iacon. The twisting collection of tubes and crystals ornamenting the walls was an exact replica ... or more likely Iacon was a copy of this. He had vague memories that it meant something intimately to Whiplash, but not what it was.

Dragging his lips across the sensor horns on his lover's helm, he asked. "So what is this sculpture?"

The chambers of every mech I've consumed," he answered simply with a soft moan.

"Can you feel anything from them?" Scramble asked with idle curiosity, more attention on lavishing kisses and suckles on his lover.

"Occasionally a new one, less than a couple metacycles old, but not generally," Whiplash shook his head, then looked up at Scramble thoughtfully. "On the berth."

Picking up on the matte black mech's mood, Scramble left off his more amorous touches and sat on the berth. He left one hand still on Whiplash's shoulder, though. "What is it?"

He didn't get an answer at first, only another shove, well, directive push really given their difference in mass, that got him to lay down. He watched silently as Whiplash straddled his chest, just below his spark chamber. Flickers of knowledge from their merges informed the Aerial that for the minibot, this was a position of control, relative safety and an easy kill.

"Would you still want me without the interfacing?" Whiplash finally asked, his emerald green optics, the color of terror to most Cybertronians, hidden behind his matte black visor.

"Yes." Scramble gazed up at him calmly, recognizing the seriousness in Whiplash's tone. "Interfacing or no, if you received major damage that somehow couldn't be fixed, it doesn't matter. I'd still want you."

"Why?" the lithe mech glared down, frustrated by his own inability to understand.

"Would you do it for Jazz?" Scramble unconsciously ran a light, soothing touch along his lover's sides, struggling to find the words that would allow him to understand. "You make me _feel_ so much more intensely just by being near. ...Like home, safety, a friend, and a lover all wrapped together. And I don't mean a lover in the physical sense. ...I want to keep that sense, keep _you_ , as close to me for as long as I possibly can. ...And that's not even close to all of it." The Aerial fisted his hands on either side of Whiplash, frustrated by his own ability to put it into words. "It's not a direct kin-bond, but it has... parallels."

"Primus screwing with us," Whiplash muttered. "I follow Jazz because he's the only one like me _and_ he's my carrier. I was made from his spark, his protoform, his armor. All right. So you're to me what Prowl is to Jazz. Welcome to the Pit, only there's no getting out. And we get to start at the beginning."

The matte black visor slid up to reveal emerald green optics. They flickered, briefly, and when they reset to the steady glow Scramble could _feel_ a difference, even if he couldn't see it. He couldn't name it, but Whiplash was colder now, his EM field no longer flickered with the half-realized arousal the Aerial had become to used to.

"Not everyone experiences it the same." Scramble's hand had begun to rise up to touch Whiplash's cheek when he saw, _felt_ the change in the other mech. "What do you mean?"

"I mean screw my orders," Whiplash growled. "This is the real me. Whiplash without any of the personality protocols loaded. I'm old. I'm angry. I'm everything my carrier is not. He's sensual. I can't grasp it. He's social. I'm not. He likes his kills personal. I shoot at extreme range.

"But more than anything, I'm numb."

Scramble's spark ached at that last confession, but accepted this as the real Whiplash. "Then my question is... do you _want_ to be numb?"

"If the profiles I load are what it's like not to be, then yes," he answered evenly. "It's extremely unpleasant to be those people."

"I can't guarantee that some of my own feelings wouldn't bleed over if we were to bond," Scramble said softly. "I don't want to make you be something you don't want to be." And yet, in a way, he already had and he didn't like the thought of it at all.

"If you want to stay as you are, we would probably need to be sparkmates at most." And he didn't even want to think about the other possibilities. Didn't want to see them coming.

"I don't know if I _can_ bond," Whiplash pointed out. "Not as this; as I really am. I'm not sure Cybertron would survive it if I did. You learned about the four Great Plagues? When thousands would extinguish a metacycle for hundreds vorns. Each one took millions of lives before it burned itself out."

"Jazz?" Scramble guessed.

"Each time a bondmate extinguishes the pain is too much," Whiplash nodded. "All he can grasp is tearing life away from everything that has it when his _everything_ is no more. Prowl wouldn't even put a number to the chance that I don't do the same when I lose a bondmate."

Scramble nodded in sad acceptance, a hand reaching up to softly touch Whiplash's cheek. He felt a small thrill when the mech leaned into the contact, even though his field was completely muted. It wasn't rejection, it wasn't mute acceptance, it was _encouragement_ of the small touch.

Despite with all Whiplash had told him, he still felt the budding love for this mech in his spark. He _couldn't_ walk away from him. Even if it seemed at the moment like he was in love with a mech who could never love him in return.

"I'm not sparkless, Scramble," Whiplash gave a small smile and leaned into the touch more. "I have tactile sensors. I just don't find interfacing appealing."

Scramble slid his other arm around Whiplash's waist, just holding him. "How numb is 'numb'?"

Instead of words, Whiplash offered a cable. When Scramble plugged in, he felt his lover breeze into him, then withdraw, drawing him along. 

Peaceful. Calm. Cool. Relaxed.

Those were the words Scramble would use to describe what it was like inside Whiplash's processors now. The Aerial basked in it, trying to have a bit of that for himself.

After a few moments, Scramble came to himself a bit. ~Show me what it's like when you have one of the other personalities loaded,~ he requested, sending the sense that he wanted to know what toll it took on the small mech when one of those personalities clashed with his real self.

With a nod Whiplash unfocused, his processors stilling for the nanoklik it took to run a soft reboot. As the new profile came up, Scramble recognized it as the one he'd gotten to know, only now he had Whiplash's ID number and private name for it: the slut. It wasn't in the playful sense either, the way most mechs would use it. In the brief time before it took over, Scramble felt all the hatred and processing system churning sickness Whiplash's real self felt towards it.

Then the moment was over and a very amorous Whiplash was looking down at him with one thing on his processors.

Scramble was still reeling from the intensity of how Whiplash's real self felt about this profile. He felt sick at himself, that he had essentially unwittingly raped this mech he cared so much about.

He felt Whiplash begin to touch him oh so knowingly and sat up, holding Whiplash as far as his arms could reach. "No. Not again." Never again with him.

"What?" Whiplash seemed honestly shock, hurt and more than a little panicked across the hardline. "But ... can I have others, then?"

Scramble gave an almost bitter laugh, still holding onto him. "You won't want to when you get back to your real self."

Before Whiplash responded Scramble felt him soft reboot again, this time his true default loading. 

"No, I don't." Hr agreed quietly, mildly surprised that Scramble had refused when the profile in charge very much wanted him. "But when I'm that, and several others to a lesser extent, I will."

Scramble pulled him back in to hug him close to his chest, resting his helm against Whiplash's. "I don't want to put you through that again. I don't," he whispered, backing it up with his feelings over the hardline.

"I'll need to you, from time to time," Whiplash murmured. "To balance out what usually causes me to load that profile. It's easier to survive when you're enjoying yourself, but that has its own fallout when you get home. At least you care."

Scramble shut off his optics, squeezing his lover closer. "Even when the real you can't stand it?" he asked quietly.

"Yes. When all a personality like the slut knows is abuse and manipulation, it begins to think it's normal, desirable," Whiplash shuddered. "Every time I use it on mission, I need to match the bad time with good, to balance it out and keep it from becoming warped. I doesn't _need_ to be you. Just someone who will treat me well when I'm like that."

Scramble shuddered, leaning in to kiss him softly. "I'll do it. Might be hard for me to forget that you don't like it, but I'll do it." He gave a soft, rough laugh, remembering Jazz's threat. "And if I couldn't, Jazz would make sure I could."

Whiplash chuckled. "Actually, I'd do it. Jazz is better, but I'm gentler when I care and this would be a small edit. You _do_ desire me, after all."

"I don't want to put you through it more than what _you_ need, though." Scramble held Whiplash's gaze with his own, completely serious.

A small smile caressed Whiplash's features before he settled in a relaxed sprawl on the Aerial's chest. "That's nice of you," he murmured softly.

Scramble ran his hand along Whiplash's back in long, slow strokes. "How many of those profiles do you have? What are they for?"

"Three I use regularly. Thousands I can access if needed," he murmured, letting his optics drift off. "This one, what I use in private, on most missions and to hunt. The Autobot is what I use the most. Just enough interface interest to keep Jazz from getting unsettled, little enough violence that it's acceptable to most ... it's the general non-mission profile. Then there's the slut for when someone's interested in me, Jazz gets in one of his moods or I'm feeling mentally masochistic."

"Does Jazz realize how much you don't like interfacing?"

A low, humorless chuckle escaped the minibot. "As much as he can comprehend. It's not that different from explaining it to the slut. He's sensuality personified. He really can't grasp the idea that anyone wouldn't want to if they aren't broken."

Scramble made a soft, sad noise, holding Whiplash close. "And where did the sky loss come from?"

"I was the first Cybertronian to work out how to fly," he murmured. "When it became relatively common Jazz leaned that those created as fliers ... there were neither Aerials, Helos or Seekers in those orns ... that they had an intense reaction to being grounded, he studied it. When he thought he understood, he wanted to make sure I could survive it."

Scramble shuddered, instinctively rolling them over so that he could curl around and over Whiplash protectively. It made him feel good to have his ... his mech ... relax and snuggle into the control and confinement. That much hadn't changed. "Can you still fly? Or was it a permanent change?"

"I can fly, if I shift to an alt that can," he purred softly. "I wasn't born to fly, not like you were. It hurt, but the real panic was learned from those I tortured. When it's just me, I can take it easily enough. Linked to you the sky loss rebounded from one panic-code to the next, yours so strong, mine coming on line in a form they weren't meant for."

"It would be nice to fly with you sometime, to share that with you..." His hand came up to stroke his small lover's cheek and helm.

"Easily done, as long as we're well away from an Autobot base," Whiplash murmured, more than content to stay under the much larger mech for the time being. "Changing doesn't take much."

"Later then, maybe," Scramble suggested, not wanting to let Whiplash from his hold just yet.

After a few quiet moments, he asked, "What is it you are alright with doing? I don't want to unwittingly push you into doing something you're not comfortable with."

"I'm not entirely sure," Whiplash admitted. "I've never needed to find out."

"Promise me you'll let me know when I hit that wall." Scramble's gaze bore into Whiplash's, needing to know that he wouldn't do his lover harm again.

"I promise," he shifted to kiss him chastely then uploaded a tiny program into Scramble's processors, linking it to his ID ping protocols. "This'll tell you which 'me' you're dealing with. Just do an ID ping."

"Thank you." Scramble pinged him to test out the program, covering his black face with light, chaste kisses as they lay together on the berth.


	8. Flying High

After the very optic-opening talk with Whiplash, Scramble had laid awake for a long time, curled up protectively around him. So much had been hidden from him... but he still wanted to be with Whiplash. Put in the effort it would take to keep such a mech close. To continue to feel the peace in his spark when they were curled together like this. It was amazing to him how quickly and how deeply he had fallen for the small mech.

With those thoughts in his processors, he finally fell into recharge.

When he came around, Whiplash was still in his embrace. The lithe mech's engine was purring, his winglets twitching in what the Aerial instinctively recognized as flight maneuvers.

Scramble hummed contently as his systems finished booting up, smiling down at his lover. He shifted his hand just enough so that the winglets would lightly brush up against his hand as they moved.

"Mmm?" Whiplash mumbled, still mostly in recharge but reacting to the pleasant sensation.

Scramble nuzzled his helm, but didn't otherwise reply. He couldn't help but find Whiplash adorable like this. The mech's defenses were down, all those protocols that made him edgy and untrusting not yet loaded. His EM field was even and almost soft despite the buzz of dark energy in it. Scramble's smile widened as he gazed on the smaller mech's face, studying every detail with adoring optics as Whiplash slowly powered up.

"Mmm," the lithe mech snuggled against the warmth around him as he folded his winglets close to his chassis. "Hi."

"Morning," the Aerial rumbled, his arm coming down to wrap around Whiplash's waist. "Recharge well?"

"Yes," he murmured, snuggling into the embrace a bit more. "Hungry yet?"

"Some, though not urgently." Scramble nuzzled his helm again. "We'll go flying today?"

"Sure," Whiplash purred. "Even flown on a stim-stick?"

"Never tried those at all." The Aerial pressed a chaste kiss against his helm.

"You're missing out," Whiplash chuckled and turned into the kiss. "It's intense, and very pleasurable."

Scramble gave him a lingering kiss. "You'll have to show me."

A playful look crossed Scramble's faceplates as he unsubspaced a data stick striped white and red with a flick of his fingers. "Plug it in," he purred.

Scramble arched an optic ridge at him, then chuckled, kissing his lover again as he did so. He moaned against Whiplash's mouth as the small but potent program curled around his processors and began to trigger every little contact as a sweeping pleasure.

His wings twitched and he gasped at the feeling of the air gliding over them. "Oh, Lash..."

Suddenly very knowing hands were on him, playing across transformation seams, dipping between armor plates to catch wires, cables ... a cog.

Scramble shuddered in deep pleasure, but managed to get out, "Lash... What are you doing...?"

"Testing an idea," the minibot chuckled, sliding his hands up his lover's cockpit. "Maybe getting you off like this won't bother me."

Scramble trembled, shifting to balance on his arms over the matte black mech. "Don't want you... to do anything... you don't want to do..." he gasped out, pleasure building faster than he had ever experienced before.

"I won't," Whiplash promised as he slid forward, then stood. "Lay down, spread those wings for me."

Scramble did as bid, trusting his lover completely as the small mech climbed on top of him and flared a mag-pulse from his hands.

"Having Jazz for a teacher does have its advantages," Whiplash commented randomly. "There isn't a track he doesn't know, a frametype he hasn't investigated inside out." He swept his hands, mag-pulses still on, along the full length of Scramble's wings.

"He taught me everything."

Scramble arched into his touch with a cry, pleasure too intense to reply. It only took a couple strokes before he was right on the edge of overload, then he fell over the edge, pushed _hard_ by the small mech above him. His optics whited out, lost to the roil of energy tearing through his systems.

"Mmm, that was actually kinda fun," Whiplash murmured.

Scramble moaned, shuddering from the aftershocks. "Lash..." Even he didn't know what he was asking for.

It didn't seem to matter as the minibot's hands moved to his wingjoints, and the pulse hit again. "Let's try again."

The larger mech cried out again, pressing into his lover's touch. The rest of his body trembled and sparked, energy building quickly between the knowing touches and the enhanced sensory information. He could barely track what was going on; he wasn't sure he cared either. The mech he loved was giving him one processor blowing overload after another and was enjoying it _as himself_.

It was all too much and soon he found it impossible to have any coherent thoughts. Several overloads later his systems had had enough and shut down.

* * *

They finally made it outside, though not before the effects of the stim stick had worn off. Though Scramble was a bit disappointed that he wouldn't experience what it would be like to fly with it, at least this way he would be able to fully focus his attention on Whiplash and he was glad for that as soon as he saw the smaller mech change. He had always thought his lover looked amazing. With wings, though....

Whiplash was absolutely engine-stallingly stunning.

And he was even more beautiful in the air.

"Just keep in mind my top speed is maybe half yours and I'm not as maneuverable," the minibot jet told him as they stood on the plateau over Jazz's home. His wings and tailfin twitched, hating to admit it. "A protoform can only take so much modification and remain multi-purpose."

Scramble let his hand glide up the center of Whiplash's back, between the wings. "I'll remember." He leaned in for a kiss and then hovered, holding out his hands to invite his lover up in the air.

With a deep x-vent Whiplash powered up flight systems, protocols and programs that hadn't been active in generations. "I can't do that either," he grumbled before taking a leap off the plateau, transforming in freefall and firing engines that while sufficient to keep him aloft in reasonable weather, were outclassed by modern technology ages before to the point he'd stopped trying to upgrade to keep up. He was, at spark, a grounder, and the prospect of flight just wasn't enough to _become_ an Aerial by surrendering his ground alt.

Scramble just watched him fly for a moment, entranced, before transforming and diving after him. The minibot may have been a grounder, but he had a love for the sky that no ordinary grounder would have. But then, to call Whiplash an ordinary _anything_ would be a disservice to his entire clade.

By the time the Aerial came even with his small lover Whiplash had found his wings and settled into an easy, wide circle around the plateau they had been staying inside.

Whiplash waggled his tail in greeting.

Scramble laughed, corkscrewing around him. He then fell in behind Scramble and twirled, wanting to play, to see what his lover could do in the air.

::You asked for it,:: Whiplash laughed, half uneasy, half exalted. It had been so long since he'd felt this, the freedom. It would be an agony to leave behind again, but he'd survived it twice, once what a _Seeker_ knew as sky loss.

He slid to the side in a corkscrew around his lover, dancing on the winds and suddenly no longer caring that he was severely outclassed by nearly everything in the sky. He was _free_.

::Bring it, beautiful,:: Scramble replied, comm voice full of joy at flying with his lover, dancing with him to the song of the wind.

Whiplash laughed and darted forward, swooping into a high-altitude tower trace right into the thin upper atmosphere.

The Aerial cheered him on and whooped. He made as if to follow with a tower trace of his own, but instead turned it into the tightest dancer's turn he was capable of, before shooting up at his lover and spiraling around him. Despite his best efforts not to, Scramble couldn't help but miss that Whiplash wasn't kidding about being outdated and outclassed in every way that mattered to the flying world.

They twisted and danced, playing off thermals and each other, lost in the pleasure that was flying.

Soon, though, Scramble pinged his lover with possible flight plans. Then he twisted and turned in the traditional invite to a courting flight, making sure to match what Whiplash could do.

Whiplash nearly stalled out in shock, and after a hesitant moment he powered up his engines to join him on the second bank of the flight, keeping pace with a set of moves he'd helped develop the originals of.

It gave Scramble a thrill when the minibot joined in, and he led his lover through the ancient forms that spoke straight to his spark.

The maneuvers had changed much over the scores of generations since Whiplash had left the developing society, but each turn, twist, dive, climb and flip brought back memories of one of the few times when he felt what he assumed was happiness. The only time when he'd truly felt Primus' purpose, and he'd liked it. He simply could not maintain it, no more than his creator could and turned to the shadows once more.

Absently he wondered if Scramble was a sign for what Primus intended for him soon. He could see it even without Jazz's extra knowledge. Cybertron was at the end of an age, past the end, really. There were only two places to go from here.

The end of everything.

A new beginning.

* * *

Scramble reclined on the berth in Whiplash's room, sated from a full orn of flying and recent refueling. He cradled his beloved against his chest, over his spark. It was wonderful that Whiplash hadn't changed from his flight-form, and said he wouldn't until they were back in Iacon.

"What do you think of sparklings?" He asked neutrally, his hand not stopping its slow strokes along his lover's side.

"Mmm, can't say I ever got along with siblings well," he admitted, wings fluttering in the mixture of pleasure at the touch and uneasiness at the subject matter. "If I carry, it will have the darkness in its spark. It takes four generations to be weakened enough that we don't require sparks to survive."

"Would you want one, with or without the darkness?" he asked, his voice still neutral. Whatever Whiplash answered was fine with him. Scramble pressed a kiss to his helm, trying to soothe away some of the smaller mech's uneasiness.

"I don't know," he finally decided. "I've never really thought about it ... not since I was a mechling at any rate." He lowered his head to rest on Scramble's broad chest. "My spark wants to. One of the few things both sides agree on. My processors ... aren't so convinced. I'm not the caretaker type, you know."

Scramble hummed in understanding, his hand not faltering in its smooth strokes. "Back in Tagan Heights... it was a 'maybe someorn' idea. Then this war started up. Wasn't about to ask for a sparkling with all of the fighting going on." The Aerial's free hand came up to rest over Whiplash's chest plates. "While I'd be happy and willing to have a sparkling with you, in any way possible, I wouldn't be _unhappy_ if we didn't."

"Not a bad way to think about it," Whiplash murmured. "Not even Jazz is likely to kindle while we're Autobots. Too many questions."

Scramble hummed, his hand moving to stroke Whiplash's back instead, below his wings. "Would you carrying be the only way for us to have a sparkling?"

"Well, no. If you carry they'd still have the darkness in them, but they wouldn't be any safer when you extinguish," Whiplash sighed. "The carrier link never quite goes away. Only those with a direct carrier link are safe from the rage that comes with a broken bond, mine or Jazz's. They're the only ones who are safe from the hunger, ours and the clade's. It wasn't uncommon to feed the ones we sired to one we carried for a first meal, though I doubt Jazz will do that again, not with how much Prowl has tempered him. An Allspark creation would have a normal spark, and it would be as attractive as any normal spark to all of us. Even more so when it's young and pure."

"Were you fed a sibling?" Scramble asked, a bit curious, still stroking his back.

"My older sister's mate's creation," he murmured.

Scramble hummed in understanding, then leaned in to kiss Whiplash as they fell silent once more, simply basking in each others' presence.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Fandom** : Transformers Bayverse  
>  **Author** : gatekat and flybystardancer on LJ  
>  **Pairing** : Jazz/Whiplash, Scramble/Whiplash  
>  **Rating** : NC-17 mech/mech  
>  **Codes** : AU, Slash, Incest, Sticky, Public Interfacing, Bondage, Toys, Supernatural  
>  **Summary** : Scramble is an Aerial in Autobot Security and finds himself with a serious crush on the SpecOp's TIC. He has no idea a night at a random club with a good beat would end with the exotic matte black minibot in his berth. Porntastic even by our standards.  
>  **Disclaimer** : The authors are only playing with their own twisted muses. Transformers belong to Hasbro. Fandom-side, check the inspirations page <http://www.gatekat-fics.livejournal.com/290.html>. We draw from a ton of amazing stories and authors you should read.  
>  **Notes** : Written in the [Dathanna de Gray fanverse](http://tf-socket-fics.livejournal.com/599.html), but can be read solo.  
> nanoklik = 1/8 second;  
> klik = 496 nanokliks/62 seconds;  
> breem = 8 kliks/8.27 minutes;  
> groon = 9 breem/1.24 hours;  
> joor = 6 groon/7.44 hours;  
> orn = 42 joor/13.02 days;  
> decaorn = 32 orns/1.14 years;  
> metacycle = 8 decaorn/9.22 years;  
> vorn = 9 metacycles/72 decaorn/83 years;  
> ::text:: comm chatter  
> ~text~ hardline/bond chatter


End file.
